Morning Grimes
by pursuitofirony
Summary: One reporter, one anchor, one desk for the both of them and a rivalry that has spanned their entire careers. When Michonne finally gets the position of a lifetime, her life may become more interesting than the news she reports. AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Author Note: Hey, all! I'm not usually a story juggler, as it's almost too much to write one story at a time, but this idea came about after watching an SNL spoof (I know!) about two reporters who had a lot of sexual tension on air who recently got engaged. I thought that it would make for a great Rick/Michonne fic.**

 **Anyways, I'm not sure about this one, so if you like it tell me! Thank you.**

* * *

 **Chapter One: Monday Morning**

 **Monday**

9:30 A.M.

"And we're live in three, two, one…," the camera man snaps, as Michonne Anthony steps into the frame.

"Hello, Michonne Anthony here reporting live from the White House," she begins, motioning behind her. "Donald Trump, or as we like to call him here at _Morning Grimes_ , Donald Dumbass, is about to give a speech in the press room on the firing of house speaker Sean Spicer," Michonne went on. "Over the last couple of weeks, the house has been chaotic after the abrupt firing of former FBI director James Comey. Sources within the white house insist that this was not because of former Democratic nominee Hilary Clinton's emails, but really, about ties between Mr. Trump's cabinet, and -"

Michonne was cut off by the abrupt sound of harsh beeping in her earpiece, as she heard one of the producers whisper frantically to her. "We're cutting to Grimes, Michonne," said Abraham - her news director - spoke sternly, his boisterous voice hurting her ears. "Do a quick cut to the desk, pronto, Anthony. The President is about to go live."

"I'm on air, sir, I can just report live now -"

" _Anthony_."

"Ford, I'm right here and I was just reporting -"

Unsure of what to do, Glenn continued to roll, motioning for the bus to make sure that they didn't get cut off. Maggie Greene, an assistant reporter, nodded back, making sure that everything was still connected.

"Cut to Grimes, 'Chonne," He instructed her sternly. "We're live. And stop calling the President a dumbass."

She sighed heavily. "Fine," she told him, hearing the clicking of him ending their communication. She forced a tight smile on her face, deeply annoyed that after nearly half her life in this career, and a Master's Degree in Journalism from an Ivy League school, she still played second fiddle to the white man. "I'm very sorry about that, we had a bit of a connection issue. I've just been informed that Mr. Trump is about to speak. Let's cut back to Rick Grimes at the anchor desk, the one who so _eagerly_ handles every story."

She said this bitingly, bitterly, before signaling Glenn to shut the cameras down. Afterwards, she trudged over to the van, and chugged down her coffee.

"Ousted again by Grimes?" Maggie asked, knowingly.

Michonne sighed once more. "Yeah, I guess I should be used to never getting my teeth in the real scoop."

Maggie's bright emerald eyes grew soft with empathy, as she'd seen Michonne struggle for awhile at _Morning Grimes_. She's come there only a year ago, but rose quickly from morning fluff pieces about diets to hard hitting political journalism straight in Washington. She'd seen Michonne secure sources inside the White House and directly with Representatives; she'd sacrificed relationships in order to always be in the front lines of every single travesty, massive national issue, or political one. And in that time, they'd become close friends.

The second cameraman - Eric - a short young man with glasses and credentials longer than his body, crossed to the other side of Michonne, depositing his gear onto the ground next to him. "Ford must've cut in on your story again?"

"He did," Michonne confirmed.

Eric rolled his eyes.

"Abraham is hunky man meat that I wouldn't mind riding me, but the network is totally fucking him up the ass," Eric bluntly stated. Maggie and Michonne couldn't help but laughing out loud at his candor. "He's trying to turn us into Fox News, when we're not exactly right wing media's cup of tea."

"That's probably why they've got Grimes - his Georgia boy, small town former police officer act makes middle America feel safe," Michonne said, taking another swig of her coffee.

" _Yeesh_ , 'Chonne, Grimes isn't too bad," Eric laughed at Michonne's pettiness. "You just need him to dick you down. I'll record the sex tape."

Glenn walked over, chuckling and shaking his head. He gave Maggie - his fiance - a quick kiss on the cheek before sitting next to her. "Eric, Michonne is right on some level, though. She deserves to be at the anchor desk just as much as Grimes does."

"Definitely so," Eric agreed.

Maggie ruffled Michonne's dreads affectionately, and then put a comforting arm around her. "I'm sure you'll get that anchor job. You just gotta hold on."

Even though Michonne knew that Maggie was right, she still felt like giving up.

* * *

2:30 P.M.

Michonne arrived to CNN headquarters after a long and stressful flight back home in coach. There had been a mother with a newborn in the window seat next to her, and a bigger man who farted a lot, and insisted on flirting with her in the aisle seat. She was trapped the entire time, just praying to get out, or at least hoping that maybe the plane would crash to put her out of her misery.

As soon as Michonne stepped into the newsroom, a production assistant came over to her. She was a young girl, with bright cerulean eyes, and a zest for life that comes when you're in your twenties working in some capacity for CNN.

"Ms. Anthony, the executive producer would like to see you and Mr. Grimes in his office immediately," She said, staring down at the clipboard in her pale hands.

"Do you know the reason?"

"No, he just said to come."

The young woman seemed nervous, Michonne noted, and she didn't like the idea of pressing people in such a way. "Thank you, I'll go ahead and get Grimes myself."

"Okay, thank you!" the girl responded, before quickly scurrying off.

Michonne sighed, hating that she'd given herself the assignment of wrangling Grimes, but she figured that she was the only one who could. He owned this place. He knew it. So, sometimes it satisfied her to tell him what to do, and where to go. As she set off to find him, she thought about doing this in great detail, until she found him sitting at his desk with the weather girl.

The weather girl - Jessie Anderson - stood by Rick Grimes' desk with a smug smirk on her face. She was a girl that'd probably slept into her position, not that Michonne liked to think of women that way, but she came to work in too-tight dresses, her cleavage piled up at the top like two overly ripe cantaloupes; her naturally brown hair dyed platinum blonde, and her make up overdone. She'd hang at his table, overtly giggling at each and every joke, because she, like Michonne, was after the big gig.

But Michonne knew that she deserved it. She'd performed at the top of her class at Columbia, her marks were high in law school, she'd written for _The Times,_ reported for the local news in Atlanta for nearly 10 years before she had landed her current job as a reporter for CNN's _Morning Grimes_. She wouldn't be ousted by some brainless bimbo who claimed to be a meteorologist but had trouble telling the difference between Cumulus cloud and a Stratus cloud.

Jessie Anderson jiggled her boobs in a disinterested Grimes' face one more time before she decided to walk over and break the news to him.

" _Grimes_ ," Michonne said, her tone clipped.

His jaw clenched, as his steely blue eyes averted up to where she stood. " _Anthony_."

"The executive producer wants to meet with both of us," Michonne informed him. "Now."

"Any idea what this could be about?"

"Why would I know?" Michonne snapped.

"No need to get sour on me, Anthony, I'm simply askin' you a question and you're actin' like I pissed in your cheerios," Rick stood, turning to address her directly. Michonne wore five inch Louboutins, which made them nearly the same height, and for a moment, she was startled by the intensity and beauty of those eyes. "Do you have a problem with me?"

Michonne felt a warmth and a tingling at the tone of his voice and forced herself to keep her composure. "No, I don't have a problem."

She moved back, the two of them still locked in a heated staring context, neither one wanting to flinch first. And then Rick smirked, his eyes travelling up and down her body, from her shapely legs, covered in navy blue pants, to her matching navy blue blazer, and white button down, unbuttoned just enough to reveal a little bit of cleavage.

He kept staring, unable to help himself. _Damn_ , he thought to himself. She had been his enemy ever since their days at FOX 5 Atlanta. She'd beaten him at nearly every story, every promotion, every exclusive story in the Atlanta area, but he had gotten the deal of a lifetime: his own show on CNN over her several years ago, and he'd thought that his show was safe until they'd also hired her as their top news reporter nearly a year ago. Ever since then, she had been competing for a spot on _his_ anchor desk.

He thought that he'd deserved that spot, as he'd spent several years working as a Sheriff Deputy for his community, serving and protecting, before he'd switched fields into a different form of service. But he couldn't help how attractive he'd always found her, how untouchable she'd always been, even with the underlying energy between them.

And then he heard snapping, but not her snapping. It was Jessie, his overtly perky weather girl. "Rick," she purred. "Michonne," she continued. "Your meeting?"

"Oh, yeah," Rick said with a careful smile. "Thank you, _beautiful_."

Rick said this and threw a pointed look at Michonne, who stood there with steam nearly coming out of her ears, pushing past the both of them without as much as a word. Rick watched her ass sway for a moment before quickly following her to their executive producer's office.

* * *

When Michonne and Rick arrived to their executive producer's office, the pair of them fought at the door for who would enter first. Rick argued that obviously he would enter, as he had seniority over Michonne, but Michonne argued that she was specifically told first to arrive, and so she should enter first.

"I can't believe you'd really abuse your powers of anchorship to get in the door first," Michonne snapped, annoyed that he got under her skin for the smallest of things.

Rick smirked to himself, enjoying pushing her neatly polished buttons. "My powers of anchorship?"

"Yes, you think that just because you sit at that desk that you're top -"

" - I think that you're assumin' a lot about me, just because I don't have your fancy degrees and -"

" - My fancy degrees are exactly why I deserve to be here more than -"

"Settle down! Jeez, you two act like children," came the voice of their annoyed, red faced boss Dale Horvath. "Now get your asses in here."

Stunned, the two of them nodded their heads and scurried inside the room with their literal tails between their legs.

"You two are in here because I've got a proposition for the both of you," Dale began, pulling out a thick stack of papers from underneath his desk. "And by proposition, I mean you're doing the damn thing with no talk back."

"Doing what thing?" Michonne asked.

"You two are my new co-anchors," Dale smirked, and sat back.

"Will the show be called Morning Anthony and Grimes now?" Michonne asked, a little too eagerly.

"You were just waiting to take my title, weren't you?" Rick said, he sat straighter, his head titled slightly, his eyes were once again hard.

"I just think that it's only fair," She responded simply.

"Well, too bad, Anthony, it's still _Morning Grimes_ ," Dale told her, which caused Michonne to deflate. "The viewers seemed to really respond to the back and forth during the 9 o'clock hour, so the network head - Negan, has requested that you both be put on to 'spice things up,'" Dale explained. " _TODAY_ has been eating up our ratings lately."

"So, we'll have the whole 9 o'clock hour?" Rick asked. "Just the two of us?"

"We'll probably add in a correspondent or two, book some guests, but you'll be delivering the news in a different sort of way," Dale explained, motioning to the stack of letters in front of him. "These are the fan letters demanding you two be co-hosts."

Surprised, the pair turned to face each other; Rick wore a panty melting smile, with his curls becoming a bit more messy than they usually were. He continued to stare at her, as if trying to communicate something to her without speaking. And she knew that they'd always had this vibe between them, but she hadn't realized that thousands of people had picked up on it.

She also knew that this was her dream, even if it meant sharing that dream with Rick Grimes.

"When do we start?" Michonne finally asked, reluctantly pulling her eyes from Rick's.

"Tomorrow morning," Dale said.

 _Well_ , Michonne thought. _We're fucked_.


	2. Chapter 2

**Author Note: Thank you for the reviews and to the person who picked up Anchorman then you're right on. I based this upon** _ **Anchorman**_ _,_ _ **Morning Joe**_ **, and comedic movies that I've watched in the past as I love to write comedy and I love office rivalry turned romance. I hope you all continue to read this wacky piece.**

* * *

 **Chapter Two: We're Trapped**

 _ **Tuesday**_

8:55 A.M.

Rick and Michonne say together at the anchor desk, as make up artists slinked around them, and broadcast engineers sat behind their equipment adjusting the lights and sound; they knew without a doubt that this had to be perfect. Abraham And Dale walked around yelling unintelligible commands to everyone, their nerves getting the best of them.

Meanwhile, back at the desk, Michonne crossed her arms of her chest. Her cream white top brushed against her silky dark skin, which Rick couldn't help but stare at once again. He had to stop that, he thought to himself. He didn't know why he had been so obvious about it lately, but it made him feel all out of sorts.

"Since it's your first day at the desk…," Rick trailed off, smirking when she turned around to face him. Her dreads were down today, framing her face, which looked annoyed. "How about I do the talking?"

"Excuse me?"

 _How dare he think that I can't talk first_ , Michonne thought angrily. She had tried to be cordial to him during the meeting this morning, but he shot down her ideas, and it was really working her fucking nerves. They'd argued about how to start the segment, with Rick suggesting that they should just simply say 'good morning, America,' but Michonne insisted that that was 'too generic.' After they finally settled on a greeting, they argued about who should introduce themselves first.

"My name is in the title, Anthony, that means that I introduce the show first," Rick huffed, stepping closer to Michonne, who didn't back down.

"Well, I'm newly on the desk, so _obviously_ I go first," Michonne insisted, breathing heavy now.

The two shared a long, heated glance; sizing each other up like two alphas in the wild. Neither one backing down to the other. Michonne was like a lioness, constantly asserting her dominance to any male that dare challenge her, and Rick was like a wolf who lead the pack, a man who constantly fought against what he perceived to be a threat.

The two of them stared each other down until their new correspondent Aaron cut things short. "Guys, we should all relax. I'm sure that we can work both of your names into the intro."

Michonne sighed, feeling silly for losing her temper. "You're right, Aaron."

She'd agreed then, but now, she sat there, agitated by those pretty blue eyes and that perfect head of gelled back curls. He still hadn't shaved, so his beard was growing long, the white sparkled in with the grey made him look like the models on a package of Just For Men. She couldn't stand it.

"I said, how about I do the talking? I'm more impartial regarding the current administration -"

" - Well, you're a Republican, so it's probably easier to understand someone like Trump," She cut him off, a satisfied smirk on his face.

"I am Republican, but I don't think that it means that I agree with his policies," Rick argued.

"It may not mean that, but I only think that it's fair that we have _both_ perspectives."

"I'm just sayin' to keep your liberal tirades on MSNBC."

"This is CNN, not Fox News, Grimes. Maybe you should consider applying over there. It might be closer to your speed."

"What the hell? CNN can't have Republican anchors now? We're all snakes like Trump?"

"I didn't call you a snake!"

"You called me a snake!"

"Well, I -"

Abraham suddenly blew a loud horn, which startled them both. "For goodness sake, calm the hell down! You're not even on air yet," Abraham breathed heavily, his face a deep, angry red. "Either you unethically fuck the shit out of each other, or you do your goddamn jobs."

Rick grumbled, his cheeks turning bright pink at the mere suggestion of fucking Michonne Anthony. He felt like a young child in the playground who had a crush on the pretty girl in school. He couldn't act weak and make it obvious that he liked her, but he could push her buttons and make her red with passion and anger. It was something that he secretly enjoyed and fantasized about.

Sometimes, he'd even plan out ways to bug her at work, which he knew was incredibly petty, but he didn't exactly think rationally when it came to her. He didn't know why her opinions mattered so much, but they did.

"Fine," the pair grumbled in unison.

But little did they know, this was only the beginning.

* * *

9:00 A.M.

Rick and Michonne sat at the anchor desk with forced, tight smiles on their perfectly airbrushed faces. It was hard for them to pretend that they didn't want to beat the shit out of each other, or possibly commit murder, so they flashed their pearly whites and pretended. Michonne thought about her son Andre, who loved to watch mommy on the news each morning. Mike - her ex boyfriend - would make sure that little Andre ate his Cap'n Crunch during the morning CNN hours in case she showed up to report a story. She knew that her precious peanut missed her, that she'd sacrificed a relationship with his father, and time with her son to make sure that she had the career of her dreams.

She shifted in her seat, growing nervous as the last adjustments were made before going live. "Three, two, one…," a studio engineer said. "And we're live!"

"Hello, I'm -"

" - Good morning, America -"

The pair chuckled nervously, staring at each other for a moment. The two were seasoned professionals, but couldn't even agree on a damn introduction. Michonne coughed, and straightened in her seat, scowling momentarily at Rick.

"Good morning America, my name is Michonne Anthony," She began.

"And I'm Rick Grimes," He said smoothly, his jaw clenched. "And you're watching _Morning Grimes_ on this fine day," he smiled a charming smile, waiting a second as Abraham cued the first story. "We're going to continue with the Breaking News story that you heard in our last hour, and yesterday," He read from the prompt in front of him. "Which is the firing of Sean Spicer over allegations that Trump was apparently getting 'bored' and 'angry' at him, throwing several tantrums a day -"

" - Which I'm sure, if you know Trump, is a daily occurrence," Michonne piped in, going off script. Rick, who wasn't used to going off script, scowled at her once more.

" _As I was_ _sayin'_ ," He stressed, his tone tight. "Before Michonne so kindly interrupted me…," He paused to give her a pointed look. "Mr. Trump threw several tantrums, and one of these tantrums lead to Sean Spicer's firing. This morning, we'll be speaking with Senior White House Columnist, John Miller."

John Miller sat for a moment in the studio, staring at the pair of them with curious, wide eyes. "Good morning, y'all."

"We'll also be joined by our new correspondent Aaron Rodgers," Michonne continued, pointing to the boyish young man with cropped curls and startling blue eyes.

"Recently, you published a piece in the _New York Times_ about Mr. Trump's reckless behavior," Rick continued. "Care to elaborate."

"Well," John began, his skin was flushed red, sweating underneath the hot lights. His balding head only had a few wisps of her hanging down like stray hay on a farm truck. "In my piece, I made a point to note that most Republicans in the House and Senate follow his policies blindly because there's house majority, you see. But I -"

" - I'm sorry for cutting you off Mr. Miller, but do you feel like _most_ Republicans support issues regarding Trump?"

John pondered it for a moment. "Most do."

Rick coughed, clenching his jaw, as he tried to bite his tongue. He pulled at his collar, tapped his fancy dress shoes on the floor, and coughed a bit.

"How do you feel about that, Rick?" Michonne smirked, enjoying watching him squirm.

"Personally, I don't agree," Rick said. "I think that Senator McCain, as well as Senator Lindsey Graham have been very vocal against the Trump administration."

"Vocal by voting for most of his policies and backing his shitty," Michonne paused, Abraham threw his hands up in the air, but motioned for her to keep going. "Crappy policies?"

"Republicans didn't want the initial Health care law," Rick pointed out.

"But they voted for another by wide numbers in the House," Michonne refuted.

Rick sighed, growing more and more frustrated, but something inside of him was enjoying the back and forth so much. He even felt his pants tighten a bit when she bit her pen, and pulled her chair closer. _How the fuck am I getting aroused by this? Focus._

"Maybe you Democrats should fight harder," Rick bit back, and bit his lip.

Michonne, who noticed the closeness that had formed between them on air in their first day, pushed her chair back and straightened her position in her chair. She would not allow those curls, or eyes, or that navy blue suit that made him look divine, or those engaging remarks in that southern accent to throw her off her game.

She turned her gaze to their new correspondent. "What say you, Aaron?"

Aaron sat there wide eyed, unable to process what he was seeing in front of him. He straightened his vest and coughed awkwardly at the obvious sexual tension between the two co-anchors. It was so unbearably thick, that it made the room feel like a furnace.

"I think that you both have made great points here, and upon speaking with Mr. Miller, I do feel like there's a palpable upheaval and _tension_ in the house," Aaron said pointedly.

"There's definitely some tension…," John agree, chuckling knowingly to himself. Oh to be young again, he thought.

* * *

10:15 A.M

Michonne and Rick sat in Dale's office once more, expecting to be scolded for their unprofessional behavior during their hour. Hell, Abraham had given them an earful at how many times he had to get someone to cut randomly to commercial or how many times they talked over a guess or debated something back and forth. They didn't seem to agree on anything, or if they did, they sure as hell loved debating them.

"Dale, look, I'm sorry for our behavior this morning. It was unprofessional," Michonne began, averting her eyes to Rick.

"We were both being unprofessional," Rick agreed.

"Are you kidding me? Y'all aren't in trouble!" Dale laughed loudly. Dale hadn't looked this happy since the last executive producer slipped and fell in mop water,leaving him to be the new exec. "Negan loved what you two did! He says that your morning spats are going viral on Twitter and Youtube!"

Dale exclaimed eagerly, pulling out an iPad from his drawer and sliding it across the desk. Sure enough, it was the two of them when they fought about Republicans and Democrats in the House. It looked like a husband and wife disagreeing. Both Rick and Michonne flushed nervously in their seats.

"I didn't work this hard to get in that seat to just be a viral internet moment," Michonne huffed.

"And that wasn't even - it was just a disagreement," Rick said, flitting his hand around a bit.

"Well, from here on out, I want you two to build on this. _This_ is your niche! Your thing!" Dale suddenly got up, throwing his hands up.

"Our thing is to fight each other on air?"

Michonne was confused as she asked this, Rick was curious.

"Yes! Our ratings will go through the roof!" Dale said. "Negan will finally give me that promotion and I can buy a new Yacht…"

"And if we refuse?" Rick questioned.

"You can go back to reporting and I can get someone else," Dale told him.

 _Well,_ Rick thought. _We're trapped._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: To Plan An Argument**

 **Wednesday**

7:00 A.M.

Michonne strolled into CNN's Atlanta studios with various documents and files scattered in her bag. She knew that they had to perfect their argument strategies and implement the perfect plan for success. Or at least, that's how she felt about it.

Michonne Anthony was Type A to her core, had been all her life. It was what got her high marks, what earned her top praise, what propelled her forward quicker than anyone else, and so, she decided to handle Rick with the same precision. She would plan out the on-air fights, and make sure that she would always get the upper hand.

She went to the elevator, and pressed the button, glad that she was alone. Until she turned around and saw Rick standing there, a few cups in a cup holder and some food in a bag in his hand. He seemed like he wanted to go into the elevator with her, and she sighed, not really wanting to deal with him so early in the morning.

"Hey," He greeted her casually. "I got you some tea, I remember that you liked that from our olden days…"

She tilted her head, and squinted at him in confusion. That was so long ago now, that she wasn't sure how he even remembered that she preferred tea to coffee, or why he was even trying to be nice to her, but she took it and nodded her head while entering the elevator.

He followed behind, slurping loudly on his Starbucks coffee, which triggered her misophonia. She turned to watch his pink lips wrap around the tip of his cup, sucking hard, and making those disgusting sounds. She stood, watching, semi-mesmerized until the bell dinged and they arrived to their floor. She followed after Rick as he greeted several people; Ezekiel, the stage manager, Noah, a new intern who ran the Twitter account, Rosita, one of their new reporters, before they both found their new shared office, which now donned their names on the clear door outside.

The office they now shared was large and grand; overlooking the Atlanta sky behind it. There were two dark oak desks on each side of the room, with spinny chairs that seemed to tower behind them, but the rest of the room was so vacant and underwhelming.

"We should decorate this place," Michonne randomly commented, sitting down in her chair and pulling out her plans.

Rick shrugged. "If you want to do that you can."

He said this with ease, and then rid himself of his overcoat and jacket. The Atlanta winter had made things quite cold outside, and so his cheeks were a bit pink, she noticed. _He's adorable_ , she thought suddenly. _No he's not. You hate Grimes._ She was at war with her own mind, but she knew that she still didn't like him. She'd forgotten the reason, but now it was part of their job.

" _Anyway_ ," She went on, pulling out the extensive lists and plans she'd made overnight about good argument topics. "I've prepared lists of topics to argue about as relating to our opposing viewpoints."

"You made lists? For arguing?" he found himself laughing now. "I think we know how to do that pretty well on our own."

"It's always good to prepare. I don't want us to be a laughing stock like we were yesterday," Michonne admitted to him. "My reputation -"

"- Your reputation is impeccable. It ain't about that sometimes and I don't think that planning things is going to make things go smoother," Rick told her. He then reached into his bag and pulled out a stuffed dinosaur, smiling at it with an adoration that she recognized but couldn't put her finger on. As quickly as it was out, he placed it back into his bag, turning to face her. "Dale told us that he liked what we did yesterday and we didn't plan that."

"Good journalists prepare," Michonne insisted.

"And sometimes a good story just lands in your lap," Rick said. "Tell me your ideas."

She scowled at him, unsure if he was making fun of her or not. He didn't seem like he was, but she didn't trust it. She pulled out the first paper, which just showed a picture of Hillary Clinton. "Argument topic number one," Michonne began. "What do you think about Hillary Clinton?"

"I think…," Rick paused for a moment. "That she was unfairly treated."

Unsure of how to respond, Michonne put the picture closer to his face.

"Puttin' that closer to my face is not gonna make my answer different, Anthony," Rick shrugged once more and smirked.

"You're fucking with me!"

She nearly screamed, which only made him grin harder.

"I am doing no such thing. You can't plan an argument if we agree on somethin', try harder," he challenged her, his light eyes darkening a bit. She was sure that his voice got deeper, huskier.

She flushed, confused by his answer, figuring that he was a far right Conservative. "I thought you were a Republican."

"I am, but I would've liked her as president," Rick admitted, the wistful look on his face said that he wasn't lying. "I appreciate strong women. I - there aren't enough of them, and as we've seen in the news, Trump's transgressions are far worse."

"But you said that I'm a liberal nut!"

"And you called me a snake."

He said this with a straight face. The both of them were unsure what to do, as they had agreed on something for the first time in, well, ever. She found herself thawing slightly at his comment about strong women, and curious about the dinosaur that he'd pulled out, and flabbergasted that he remembered her affinity for tea.

She went into her bag and retrieved something else, something less political. "We have a story about a woman who kept the ring after divorcing her husband. He cheated."

"Well," Rick began. He was trying to figure out the proper way to phrase things. "I don't think that she should keep it."

"But he gave it to her," Michonne argued.

"That's how women think, I think," Rick began. "But when you actually do divorce someone, you don't want that type of baggage."

"I don't think that it's a woman thing to want to hold on to something from someone that you love, that you fought for, that you gave so much to," Michonne said, growing more passionate with each word. "I treasure everything given to me and a ring is the same thing."

"But why would you want to hold onto something like that? I don't understand," Rick admitted, he felt confused at his curiosity. Or maybe he just wanted to know more about her.

He saw that fire in her eyes when she talked about this, and it struck some deep part of him that fought against his natural urges to infuriate her. He suddenly wanted to know that part of her, to unlock it like Pandora's box, and figure out her secrets. She was so enigmatic, and in the years that he'd been in her presence, he'd never heard her mention a boyfriend, a child. She was the definition of a mystery, and it fascinated him deeply. He'd never met someone who prepared issues to argue about.

He saw her furrow her brows together, those deep brown eyes glimmering. "You've never loved someone so much that you cherished everything that they've given you? You've never felt like that one person gave your life meaning and purpose beyond everything else in world?"

Rick thought about it for a long second, staring now at his left hand, and thinking about how his wedding band used to sit there. _Lori._

 _I have._ Rick thought this, but didn't dare express it now.

When he didn't say anything, she sighed. "Give me your opinion."

"I just - I just don't think that I could hold onto that pain," Rick admitted. "Divorce is hard enough."

Sensing innately that something was troubling him, Michonne decided to quickly move to the next segment, which was a segment about a woman who had lost her son to the war several years before, and who felt like it wasn't necessary anymore. She placed it on his desk, and walked over to her desk, and Rick, once again, watched her ass. Today, she wore a form fitting pencil skirt, and a white button up blouse. Every single curve was apparent, as was the shine of her skin, and her loose life that cascaded and bounced every time she moved.

"How do you feel about war?"

He stared at her for a moment, momentarily mesmerized. "Our troops serve a purpose right now in establishing peace."

"They do that, but I don't feel like the war was really necessary in the first place," Michonne said. "Iran and Iraq were not initially involved, Saudi Arabia was and yet the United States and Trump are acting like -"

" - The country needed to do something after 9/11, we weren't safe," Rick argued.

"Safety doesn't mean attacking the innocent, Grimes."

"Yes, it -"

Rick was midway through his sentence before The Boob Juggler Jessie Anderson waltzed into his office as if Michonne weren't even there. Rick looked her way as if he were in need of help, but Michonne simply smirked at him, and enjoyed the view from her desk.

Jessie sat on the edge of his desk, pulling out some papers for Rick to read over. "Rick, I needed help on some of my weather report…"

"Didn't you go to school for meteorology?" Michonne couldn't help but snark, even though her voice was calm.

Jessie seemed caught off guard by her sitting there. "You guys share an office now?"

"Yes," Michonne said calmly. "Rick has been _very_ accommodating."

"Is this true?" Jessie squeaked out.

"Yeah," Rick said, casually.

"Well, okay," Jessie went on, albeit a bit nervously. "How about we grab lunch and discuss this more," She rubbed on his tie. " A bit more...privately."

Rick looked over at Michonne, his eyes wide with a silent plea, but Michonne just smirked and let him simmer for a few moments more. She looked on at Jessie's eager face, to Rick, who was saying 'help me, please,' with those pretty eyes of his. She wanted to be petty, and not say anything at out, but for some unfounded reason, she didn't.

She should have though.

But she didn't.

She signed. "He can't go to lunch with you, because we're doing lunch together today."

Jessie quickly averted her eyes to Michonne, and Michonne saw the hatred and jealousy in them, before she quickly flashed her eyes to Rick. "Is this true, Rick?"

"Unfortunately," Rick told her, and then he pretended to read something on his desk before she scampered off. Afterwards, Rick turned to Michonne, a relieved smile on his face. "Thank you for that, I -"

" - This doesn't mean I like you, or that we're friends," Michonne cut him off quickly. "I wouldn't wish Jessie on my worst enemy."

"You're going soft on me, Anthony," Rick told her, placing his hands behind his head. That grin of his melted her a bit.

"I pick lunch, and you're paying for us both," Michonne answered, not looking back up.

* * *

9:00 A.M.

"Good morning, America," Michonne began at the desk. "My name is Michonne Anthony."

"And I'm Rick Grimes," Rick continued. "Welcome to another wondrous morning here at _Morning Grimes_."

Beside him, Michonne shifted, and rolled her eyes just slightly while he continued on with the newest segment. Midway through their second report about a wayward mother who was searching for her missing daughter, Abraham and Dale cued for them. There was an urgent Breaking News matter which meant that they had to cut quickly to commercial and reconvene.

After the commercial break, Michonne was eager to report the latest story about the downfall of Kathy Griffin because of her anti-Trump remarks. They'd just gotten word that she'd apologized, on top of that, they'd gotten another report about Sean Spicer holding a press conference over his firing. As morbid as it sounded, it was a wonderful day to be an anchor on one of the most watched cable news channels in the United States.

"Welcome back, everyone," Michonne began, nearly grinning from ear to ear. "We have a breaking news story. Kathy Griffin has apologized for her graphic photo shoot, showing her holding the head of Donald Trump, which is bloody and decapitated," Michonne continued. "Donald Trump's son Barron is said to be devastated and CNN has relieved her of her New Years Eve job…"

She trailed off, as Rick's name appeared on the screen. The both of them knew that things were going a bit too smoothly today, and they had to spice it up. "We've brought in our correspondent Aaron, as well as TMZ's Harvey Levin to discuss Kathy's actions," Rick said, as the engineers worked on bringing in Harvey, who was live on satellite in L.A. They then set up a split screen so that everyone could discuss the newest development.

"Do you think that Kathy went too far?" Michonne asked.

"100 percent yes she did," Harvey piped in immediately. "A child saw this and -"

"Most children can differentiate between a fake head and a real head," Michonne cut in.

"There you go, interruptin' guests again…," Rick said under his breath.

"Excuse me? I was offering input," Michonne said.

Eric - who was handling camera number one - quickly cut wide, and panned to a startled Aaron, mostly because he was cute, who once again sat dubiously watching the pair. The split screen was put on once again, as the two feral co anchors began tearing each other apart.

"There's offerin' input, and there's being a shrew."

"A shrew?"

"Yes, Michonne," Rick confirmed. "You are acting like a shrew. Aaron," Rick turned to face the nervous correspondent. "Don't you think she's acting a bit shrew-ish?"

"Well, I -"

Before he could answer, Michonne cut in. "Don't answer that, Rick is just being a bit of a sexist."

As Michonne said this, she smirked at him, eying him up and down. She remembered his words this morning, ' _It ain't about that sometimes and I don't think that planning things is going to make things go smoother._ ' And she knew that he was right. These on-air fights that they had couldn't be planned or premeditated, and that's what made them so exhilarating. She got so charged when they fought.

"Sexist? I don't think that it's sexist to point out your behavior," Rick told her, moving his chair closer to hers. "Sometimes women need a man to dominate them."

Michonne's eyes widened, as she leaned on closer, as if on instinct, and then quickly moved away. She felt herself get a bit wet, which made her cross her legs. "Moving right along…," Michonne said, effectively diverting the topic, once again leaving Rick hot and bothered. "So, Kathy Griffin…"

But Harvey Levin and Aaron just gaped at them both. Aaron felt disoriented, but this job paid for his new condo, and if that meant dealing with these two then he'd deal with these two. Begrudgingly. _I truly don't get paid enough for this shit_ , He thought before plastering a smile on his face. "About her…," He began.

* * *

12:15 P.M.

Rick and Michonne sat in a small sandwich shop a few blocks from CNN's headquarters. It was Michonne's favorite spot to grab a quick bite, and she felt like the people there were like a second family to her. Sasha, the owner of the place, and her husband Bob, always gave her deals, but she still wanted Rick to pay for her damn meal.

After a few moments of tense silence, Sasha came over with a curious look on her face. "Isn't he that guy that you hate?"

Michonne's eyes widened, as Rick chuckled. "Sasha!"

"Hey, it's not exactly a secret," Sasha laughed. "It's nice to meet someone who Michonne talks about so much. She's truly not as anal as she seems."

Rick's eyes watched her curiously. "I'm sure that she's less anal when I'm not involved, but it's nice to meet you, Sasha."

"You as well, Rick," She responded.

"How is Andre?" Sasha questioned.

Even though this was Michonne's favorite place, she hasn't been by in awhile, and she knew that Sasha tended to worry about her a lot. She felt guilty when she pushed people away, and guiltier when she thought about Andre. But at the mention of the name, Rick perked up.

"Andre is doing well," Michonne answered. "He says mommy says too many bad words."

"Well, he's right!" Sasha laughed loudly, pulling out her book to take their orders. "Anyways, what are y'all having today?"

:

After Rick and Michonne got their orders back, Rick decided to ask Michonne about this little boy Andre. He had a son - Carl - who he rarely saw because of work. After the separation, Lori took him to live in King County, while he lived in Atlanta. He wanted to know more about her, and the more he knew, the harder it became for him to dislike her, if he ever truly had.

"Is Andre your son?" He asked, as he took a bite of his sandwich.

Michonne debated answering, and then just did. "Yes, he's my son."

"I have a son," Rick blurted out. "His name is Carl and he's eight."

"Andre is about to turn four," Michonne admitted. "I wish I could see him more…"

"I wish I could see my son more, too," Rick told her. "Maybe I should."

And for the first time, they saw themselves in each other. Rick's eyes found hers, and they stared for awhile at each other. There was something in their eyes that neither could discern, and instead of tackling whatever that was, Michonne pivoted to their usual vibe.

"I have prepared more stuff for us to argue about," Michonne found herself smiling. "So, Cavs or Golden State Warriors?"

Rick found himself smiling back. "Obviously, I'm a Golden State fan…"

"You would be!" Michonne responded, hitting him on the shoulders in an uncharacteristically playful manner.

And then two carried on, like always, into their next debate.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author note: Thanks to everyone who is enjoying the wackiness of this story. I hope you'll continue to like it.**

 **Chapter Four: The Green Eyed Monster**

 **Two weeks later, Wednesday**

9:30 A.M.

Michonne and Rick sat at the anchor desk during a break in the segment. It had been a few weeks now that they'd been co-anchors, and strangely enough, they'd found a rhythm to this whole arguing thing. They'd gotten it down to a science, and knew exactly how to incite it. They just didn't plan it, and let things go with the flow. They'd freak out their correspondent Aaron, as well as whatever guest was on air, and then they'd spend hours researching the latest news stories, formulating the right execution, and piecing together their stories to show to Dale.

Dale loved it, every minute. The ratings had grown tremendously in the key 18-25 demo, and doubled in people aged 26-49. They were finally beating _TODAY_ , which was a big thing for the network and so, Rick and Michonne saw hefty raises.

While the make up artists put on the finishing touches of Michonne's make up, the latest guest, Spencer Monroe sidled up to Michonne. He was a smarmy son of Ohio's Senator Deanna Monroe. Handsome, with a delicate jaw, thin lips, pretty eyes, and a general disposition of cockiness about him, he carried himself like a sleazy car salesman. They'd called him in as a voice relating to his book that talked about what it was like to be the son of a politician in a long line of politicians, which then turned into a war of words between Rick and Spencer, with Michonne having to cut in between the two.

But Rick had noticed the way that douche had been eying Michonne, like she was a piece of meat, and he didn't like it one bit.

He clenched his jaw, watching as Spencer leaned in. "Hey, Michonne, right?" the pretentious twit asked, straightening his dorky bow tie. _Who even wears multi-colored bow ties as a full grown adult? Asshole_ , Rick thought, feeling a foreign feeling consume him. He was definitely not jealous.

"Yeah," she said, a heart stopping smile on her face. "That's me."

Spencer leaned in further, which made Rick ball his fists up at his side. "You're a very beautiful and smart woman. How's about you and I go out before I fly out this week?"

Rick's eyes quickly darted towards Michonne, and for some unfounded reason, he cared about whether or not Michonne dated this dweeb. Was he even old enough to drink? He was probably born the same year that they'd graduated high school, and the thought of that made Rick even angrier. There was absolutely, positively no way that she'd ever consider -

" - Sure," came her smooth voice. "Let me check my schedule," she continued, pulling out her Blackberry.

Rick hit the table, which caused both of them to look over at him curiously. He shrugged it off even though he was in a lot of pain, and forced himself to watch Ezekiel command the stage as if it were a theater. He'd follow behind Abraham, giving commands here and there, and then he'd sashay onto the next. Apart of Rick wished that he could genuinely be that smooth, as he turned over to watch Michonne sift through dates.

"I'm available for lunch tomorrow," she told him.

"Really? That's great! I'll give you my digits!" Douche!Spencer said a little too eagerly. Rick watched as he pulled out a tattered iPhone, and got Michonne's number, before taking his position next to Aaron, who just sat down after chatting with Eric.

Afterwards, Rick and Michonne sat in their seats, waiting for their cue from Abraham, who did the usual count.

"And three, two, one…," Abraham trailed off. "You're back on!"

"...And we're back," Michonne began. "If you're just tuning in, today we're joined by Spencer Monroe, who is here to promote his latest book _The Son_ , a wonderful piece about what it's like to have a parent in politics, as well as what it's like to be in a long line of politicians."

Rick spun in his seat to face Michonne, irrationally irritated that she wouldn't be having lunch with him tomorrow and instead would be entertaining the thought of dating someone so beneath her. "Well, I'm sure you know all about Spencer."

"Excuse me?"

Michonne turned around to face him. Aaron just sighed, resigned to the fact that this was his life now. Spencer, on the other hand, smirked.

"You heard what I said," Rick told her, letting the jealousy take over. "You gave him your number."

"And what does that have to do with you?" Michonne fired back.

In the far background, Dale squealed loudly. This was the most unprofessional, personal fight yet, and he was so eager for it. It was delicious, soap opera drama to the highest degree. Here he had Rick, jealous over Michonne getting the number of some assholish Senator's son. He could see all of the money flashing before his eyes, as Abraham shook his head.

"I just think that's unprofessional…," Rick trailed off. "So, Spencer -"

"What's unprofessional is you nearly screwing the weather girl!" Michonne screamed. "And I didn't say anything about that. I even helped you when she tried to come onto you."

"But I never dated her," Rick responded, cheeks burning red. "I just can't believe that you're actually considering dating him. _Him_?" Rick pointed at Spencer, which caused him to glare at Rick.

"My personal life is my personal life, Rick," Michonne went on.

"Fine," Rick grumbled. "So, Aaron, what do you think about his book?"

Aaron sighed once again, and ran his hands through his longer curls. He made a face at Eric behind the camera, and then turned back to his childish co-anchors. _Condo. Date with Eric. Six flags tickets. Higher salary._ He chanted in his head as he gulped, and responded. "Personally, I thought that it was an interesting piece of nonfiction which details the life of…"

He went on, as Rick and Michonne sat in their seats, unable to face each other. It was their most personal, passionate fight yet, and both of them felt uncomfortable at how personal it'd gotten. It wasn't about the news, but personal feelings, and neither knew how long they'd be able to carry on airing their dirty laundry like that.

* * *

10:30 A.M.

Rick and Michonne sat in their office, sorting news stories and working hard on writing new content for the website. They had to make sure that their part was done, and the news was nearly a 24/7 gig that they couldn't exactly stop.

But Rick knew that he'd gone too far today with her, and he needed to apologize for it. He'd let his jealousy overtake him in the heat of the moment, and for that, he deeply regretted it. "Michonne," He began, the tone of his voice caught her off guard. She lifted her head up to find him staring at her with pleading eyes. "I'm sorry about what I said. How I acted. It wasn't right, and...I didn't mean it."

"Then why did you say all of that?" She asked him, confused.

"I don't know," He admitted.

He knew the reason, but he wouldn't dare tell her that it was because he was jealous. That was not something that he could admit.

"You can't just say shit like that to me on air," Michonne told him. "And it is none of your concern who I'm dating or why. You are not my boyfriend or my husband."

 _I wish that I could be_ , Rick thought, and then shook his head. What the fuck was that? He thought to himself. He was not developing feelings for Michonne. Sure, he thought that she was incredibly attractive, and he wouldn't mind sleeping with her, but feelings? He felt like he'd pushed those to the side ever since Lori left him, citing that he didn't speak enough and was always gone. It'd hurt him so much, that he hadn't dated anyone since. It'd been over a year, coincidentally, right before Michonne had arrived to turn his world upside down.

"I know that," Rick admitted. "I just couldn't understand why you'd want to date someone who dresses like an adult toddler and talks about politics like a third grader. I just," Rick paused, and then whispered. "You could do better."

Confused, Michonne decided not to respond to what he'd just told her or the way that he was looking at her. It was a look that he'd gotten in his eyes, an overwhelming softness that she'd never seen in him before.

She'd mostly said yes to Spencer because she was kind of bored of being single, but didn't exactly find him all that appealing. She had enjoyed seeing Rick squirm and sulk in his chair at the thought that she'd be having lunch with someone else, even though their retreats at Sasha and Bob's sandwich shop had caused them to grow closer as friends. They spent all of their time there together, and at work, but somehow that place allowed her to see the complexities of Rick.

From what she gathered, he used to be married, but was not anymore; loved his son more than anything, but could not see him, and he wasn't a huge fan of relationships.

Truthfully, a part of her - the overwhelmingly petty part - said yes to Spencer because she just wanted to see Rick's reaction. She'd never tell him that though.

"Lunch is still our thing," Michonne told him. "Don't worry."

Rick perked up, but hid it quickly. "I wasn't worried about that."

And for the first time, Michonne allowed herself to simply smile at him, and not want to kill him simultaneously. It was a start.


	5. Chapter 5

**Author note: Thank you all for your reviews. :)**

 **Chapter Five: The Apology**

 **Thursday**

9:00 A.M.

"And we're live in three...two...one," a studio engineer said, before Abraham gave Michonne her cue.

"Good morning, America, Michonne Anthony here," She began, reading from the teleprompter screen in front of her. "In today's news we -"

" - Actually," Rick cut in. "I'd like to say somethin' before we begin…"

Rick said, a serious look on his face. Michonne turned to face him, both curious and perplexed as to what they could possibly be fighting over now when she hadn't even started the segment yet. But, it was Rick's face that confused her even more. He looked apologetic, sincere, earnest about something that she didn't even know of. He looked like a groveling husband who desperately wanted to fix something, and she felt something inside of her flick on at the notion.

On the other side of the desk, Aaron watched the interaction play out in an apathetic manner. He had basically gotten a front row to their entire relationship, and as much as he hated it, he liked that they weren't fighting. At least, not yet. He flashed tiny grin to Eric, who gave him a thumbs up. And then he turned back to face the two co-anchors that he had grown used to.

"What?" Michonne finally asked.

Rick gulped, and nervously averted his eyes away from her. "I've already apologized to you off air, but I'm formally apologizing to you on air. How I acted," he paused, chancing a glance at her. "It wasn't right. It shouldn't have gotten so personal, and I hope that we can carry on as colleagues and," Rick paused once more, smiling at her. She couldn't help but smile back. "Friends?"

He held his hand out for her to shake, and she took it, not knowing what to expect. She wasn't used to this, this feeling that they were now at. She was used to competing with him, she was used to destroying him, but she wasn't used to this. Whatever this was. She wasn't used to electricity shooting up and down her arms when their hands touched, or flutters in her chest when he smiled at her.

She was used to annoyance at how loud he slurped or how smug he was; she was used to being angry or debating, but she wasn't used to wanting more or feeling like there was something.

She flushed, unable to look him in the eyes, as their hands lingered, until they slowly and awkwardly pulled their interlaced fingers away. Afterwards, they stared at one another. "Friends," She nodded, accepting his apology. "So, anyways, today we're continuing our coverage on Kathy Griffin and her wild press conference…"

As Rick and Michonne continued on with the news, Dale looked on, and realized that he had something even better than two anchors who hated one another. He had something akin to a celebrity dating show playing out for all of America to see, and as highly improbable and unethical as it would be for the network, he knew that these two were falling in love. He saw it now, as he watched Grimes stare at Anthony with something akin to pure adoration. _Gold. This is pure gold!_ He thought eagerly.

* * *

12:15 P.M.

Michonne sat at Sasha's sandwich shop awaiting her date Spencer Monroe. She wasn't exactly eager to see him, and still had mixed feelings about everything, especially after Rick apologizing on air, but she wasn't one to back away with plans or promises. She'd promised Spencer some of her time and she planned to obligate that even though she secretly dreaded it, and found herself wondering what she'd say to Rick if he was here.

 _We'd probably argue about where to sit or the basketball game_ , she thought wistfully. Rick would rub it in that his team won, and then possibly make a jab at LeBron James' tendency to ball hog, and she'd call him a fucking idiot. They'd laugh together before Sasha brought the menu over.

She missed him, she realized.

And then Spencer strolled through the doors, wearing a striped suit with a rainbow colored bowtie. She hadn't noticed it, but found herself remembering Rick complaining about it, calling him an "adult toddler," and she couldn't stop the giggle that bubbled up in her chest.

"What's so funny?" He questioned her, as he sat across from her.

"Oh, nothing…," Michonne trailed off. "I'm just really -"

" - So, I'm sorry for being late," he rudely interrupted. "But, like, my mom has been on my case lately and it's annoying. I can't believe that she'd make me fly business class when I always fly first class or in our private jet. Can you believe how unfair she's being?"

 _First world white people_ _problems_ , Michonne wanted to say, but refrained, and bit her lip. "That sounds horrible," Michonne said, her voice monotone.

"Right? Like can you believe that she's going to make me fly business class. _Me_ ," he went on, making a scene of pointing at himself for emphasis.

And it was in that moment that Michonne knew that Rick was right. This guy was a grade A douchebag jerk. She didn't know why she'd even bothered going out with him, but decided to suffer until the end because her pride and her loyalty to fulfilling promises did not allow her to leave.

"I can't imagine having to fly in business class," Michonne offered. _Hell, Negan's cheap ass only buys coach tickets._ "That must suck."

Spencer sighed, and then went into another long tirade about his father Reg, a groundbreaking engineer who was responsible for the design of fully electrical houses, which they planned to put onto the market in 2019. Michonne thought that this was an incredible achievement; Spencer thought that it was boring.

She thought back to Rick's words regarding how young he must be, and she had to know for herself. "So, how old are you?"

"Twenty six," Spencer puffed out his chest proudly, and Michonne got up from the table.

Sure, twenty six wasn't nineteen, but she could not date a twenty six year old with the brain capacity of a nineteen year old. "Look, I'm sorry for this, but I don't think that this is going to work," Michonne said, before heading over to the counter where Sasha stood busting up laughing. Michonne had thought that it was weird that she spent nearly twenty minutes in there, but no one had served her.

"I'm going to take my sandwich to go," Michonne began, while Sasha still laughed.

"You sure you don't want your date to get something?"

"Maybe off the kids meal," Michonne replied, watching as Spencer got up and approached them.

"You're really gonna leave?" He asked, perplexed and petulant.

"Yeah," Michonne shrugged casually. "I came here, we talked, but I decided not to continue things with you and now I'm going to order my sandwiches," she paused and turned to Sasha. "Pastrami on Rye, no mayo and a Phili Cheese Steak, no onions," She told her, which caused Sasha to quirk her eyebrows up. That was usually both her and that adorable co anchor of her's order whenever they came in. "Anyways, I am. After my sandwiches are done."

Spencer pouted. "You're not even going to order for me?"

"You can order for yourself," Michonne told him, and then turned around, officially done with him.

* * *

1:00 P.M.

Michonne strolled into their shared office with two wrapped sandwiches, some tea, and a Starbucks coffee for Rick, and when she did, his eyes lit up. She sat everything at the edge of her desk, and smirked at him, finding him slightly adorable in his relaxed aura. Today, he'd rid himself of his jacket, undercoat, and even untucked his pants. Those forearms of his were on display, as he'd pulled his sleeves up.

Before she could sit, and enjoy her food, she saw him get up, and wrap her in a tight near hug. _Damn. He smells nice_ , she thought and once again, she shook her head. "Thank you," he whispered, his warm breath and genuine Southern drawl warming her insides like melted honey. She had to pull away and find her professionalism.

"No problem," She said, sitting down. She saw Rick go over to his desk and retrieve a chair so that they could actually have lunch close to each other. She sighed, dreading admitting that Rick was right about Spencer. "I told you that lunch was _our_ thing," She told him. "And I - I don't normally do this, but thank you for apologizing like that on air."

"You deserved it, Rick said, slurping loudly on his coffee. She should be disgusted by that horrendous noise, but she found herself comforted by it. "I never want you to think that I don't respect you, what you do, what you've done."

Michonne didn't know how to respond, her eyes lingering on her framed photograph of Andre, which she'd put on her desk. It was his first day of preschool and he'd wanted to dress as Elsa to impress the girls, she'd let him because he looked so darn cute. Rick's eyes followed hers, to the picture, and he recognized that look of longing in her eyes.

"You were right about Spencer too," Michonne told him, effectively switching that part of her brain and life off. "He's twenty six."

"He's a baby," Rick laughed lightly.

"He's not _that_ young!" Michonne argued.

And Rick had to grin, his heart swelling at her fire. "You probably had to hold his hand and put him in the chair."

She slapped his shoulder, as they both giggled together, but her hand lingered there for a second longer than it was supposed to. He was so hard.

She coughed, and quickly moved her hand away.

"Don't make me recant my confession," Michonne told him, still a bit flushed, as she felt their knees press together.

"Never," Rick told her, with an ease in his voice that was new to her. His eyes found the photo again, and he reached into his pants pocket, pulling out his wallet sized photo of Carl. "Carl - my son - I -," he struggled to admit something so personal. "I bring him everywhere too."

Michonne, caught off guard by his confession, simply stared at him.

And then he continued. "Your son has your smile."

As he said this, his eyes locked with her own, and she felt her heart skip a beat in her chest. For a moment, just one, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and take his pain away. She wanted to kiss those lips, which looked soft and inviting, but she didn't. Instead, she placed a comforting hand over his. "Your son has your eyes."

And then those eyes of his bored into hers, she could see them melt like two pools of ice, into the sea. It was probably some sort of metaphor for how he was melting the ice over her heart.


	6. Chapter 6

**Author note: In this chapter, we meet Carl and Andre. We'll also be delving a bit into their personal lives. Enjoy. :)**

 **Chapter Six: The Sons**

 **Thursday**

9:00 P.M.

Michonne trudged into her high rise apartment, tossing her heels to the side as she sighed. The work had been overwhelming today, as they'd been responsible for setting up an exclusive with one of Donald Trump's cabinet members first thing Monday morning. It was also holiday season, so things were incredibly rapid at the station.

She turned on the light, hoping that maybe Andre was still away so that she could tell her little boy that she loved him. She heard the telltale sign of footsteps banging against the hardwood floor, and there was her ex boyfriend and father to her son, Mike. Mike was a handsome man, with dark skin, a solid body, and a kind disposition. They'd broken up because of her growing work schedule, and what he felt was her inability to make time for him.

"Where were you?" he questioned her, placing his hand on his hip. "I let Andre stay up tonight, but this can't continue. This work schedule is -"

" - _Mike_ ," she cut him off. "I'm an anchor on _CNN_. I've just gotten a raise. This job pays for this apartment."

"But when is the last time that you spent more than an hour with your son?" Mike fired back, the anger painting an ugly mask on his face. "You're always putting your job before him."

"What I'm doing is building a solid future him," Michonne said, her eyes watering a bit as she heard the words tumbling out of his mouth. Each one like a harsh needle to her heart. "I let you live here rent free even though we broke up months ago, and yet there's a problem?"

"Yes! There is!" he screamed. "You spend your mornings arguing with that man, and call it a job. Our son sees that because he refuses to not watch mommy on the news. I just don't think that you get how much your job impacts him."

Speechless, Michonne decided to end the argument, and walk away. She didn't feel like dealing with him today, not after the war that she felt in her mind whenever she thought of Rick. She understood his guilt about never seeing his son, because she knew in her heart that she'd sacrificed so much in order to get to where she was. When Andre was born four years ago, she was still working at FOX 5 Atlanta, and Rick had just left to work at CNN. She'd taken some time off to bond with him, but upon returning had to rebuild her entire career.

This meant that she had to sacrifice time with little Andre, which hurt her tremendously. After she got a huge promotion, she felt the cracks in her relationship form like an ice ring thawing in the dead of winter. She'd get into fights with Mike about everything from Andre's schooling to whether or not it was appropriate for him to wear dresses. Things only got worse after CNN hired her, and she spent countless hours on the road, which ultimately lead to their nasty break up.

But, he'd decided that they should both stay in the apartment for the time being while she worked and he cared for Andre. It wasn't a perfect system, but she'd naively hoped that things would work out.

She found herself tip toeing into Andre's bedroom, as she found the young boy up, and alert, waiting for mommy. Just as he always was. This night, he wore his favorite Spider-Man pajamas. His bright smile, caramel colored skin, and hazel eyes took her in as if she were Santa Claus on Christmas day. The young boy immediately got up and threw himself into her awaiting arms. "Mommy!" he squealed. "I waited up for you."

"I know, peanut," she whispered into his neck, setting him down onto his racecar bed. "Mommy was working late again, but she's very sorry."

Andre shrugged. "It's okay. I know that a lot of people watch the news."

"Yes, they do, and that means that sometimes I have to make sure that the news is the best that it can be," she told him.

Andre was quiet for a moment and contemplative, as if he had a question on his mind, but did not know how to ask it.

"Do you like Mr. Rick?" Andre blurted out.

Michonne sputtered, and flushed profusely at the question, her cheeks warming.

"What?"

"Do _you_ like Mr. Rick?"

" _What_?"

"Mommy, you heard what I said."

Andre was nothing if not straightforward and to the point.

"No, Mr. Rick just works with me," Michonne confirmed, nodding her head.

"Then why did he get mad at you for that man with the bowtie like Sesame Street?" Andre questioned. "And he likes to look at you."

Michonne found herself sputtering even more, unsure of how to even broach this subject. How did a child even pick up on things like that? Was she really that obvious?

"My teacher at school likes to put your show on and she says that people like to fight when they like each other," Andre explained.

"Miss. Beth?"

Michonne questioned, thinking of Miss. Beth Greene, Andre's preschool teacher. The girl was young, and enjoyed fangirling over her whenever she dropped him off at daycare. She'd always ask if there was any gossip at the station, or if she could hook her up with any cute guys, which was totally inappropriate. It made sense that Beth was gossiping about her to the four year olds, but it definitely upped their viewership.

"Yes, mommy," Andre told her. "I heard Miss. Beth tell Ms. Olivia that they made bets about you too."

Michonne groaned, placing her head in her hand, and then forced a smile at Andre. "Time for bed, Mister."

* * *

10:45 P.M.

Rick arrived in King County a lot later than he expected to, what with Atlanta traffic sucking like a bitch and his ex wife's call urging him to come immediately. He'd gotten off of work and hopped in his car, and sped there like Speed Racer Go, hoping beyond everything that something awful hadn't happened to his son.

Lori hadn't even been specific. She just used one syllable words like come and go and Carl. He wasn't sure what the fuck was going on as he pulled into his former home, and ran out, willing himself to knock on the door.

Within a second, the door swung open and a bag of luggage flew at his face. That bag of luggage proceeded to knock him down to the ground.

"What the fuck?" he said, once he got up. He rubbed his head, and squinted at her.

Lori stood at the door, her long hair pulled up into a harsh bun, her thin frame distant, her eyes everywhere but on him. "I'm going out of town for a week to visit my parents. Carl is out on winter break and I need you to watch him."

"You -," Rick struggled for the words. "You couldn't tell me this over the phone?"

"You wouldn't have come otherwise," she said, still unable to face him.

"So, you keep Carl away from me for months and now you're just -," Rick paused, gripping his curls in frustration.

"I'm the one that _sees_ him," Lori argued. " _I'm_ the one that has time for him."

"That doesn't mean that we can't work something out," Rick said.

"We are, right now," Lori informed him. "Shane and I -"

"I know," Rick said.

He didn't want to hear it.

It still hurt him, more than she'd ever know. He'd lost his wife, his best friend, and his son in the span of several weeks and it'd been the most painful thing he'd ever gone through. He'd buried himself in work, in not feeling anything until he'd succeeded. It didn't help that he'd become fascinated by Michonne, as he'd always been.

"Just get Carl so that I can go," he went on.

Lori simply nodded, and headed inside to get him.

* * *

 **Friday**

7:30 A.M.

Rick arrived at CNN's headquarters later than usual, as a groggy Carl followed behind him asking all sorts of puzzling questions. _What do you eat at CNN? Have you ever farted on air? Is Michonne Anthony just as pretty in real life?_ But he didn't answer him right away, just happy that his son would be able to spend some time with him and see what he did day to day.

He saw Michonne waiting at the elevator, as Carl nearly bulldozed into her, but didn't when he realized who she was. "You're Michonne Anthony!" the boy greeted her eagerly.

A sleepy looking Michonne turned, and gave him a heart stopping smile. "Why hello there," she said. "You must be _that_ one's," she pointed at Rick. "Son."

"That is my dad," Carl told her. "Unfortunately."

Carl deadpanned, which earned him a giggle from Michonne.

Rick turned to Carl, faux outrage on his face. "Son!"

"I'm just saying," Carl told him. "I'm sure you know already how my dad can be sometimes."

Michonne averted her eyes towards Rick, who hung on his son's every word, even if they were snarky, which managed to melt Michonne's heart like butter. For the last few days, she'd found herself relating to him a bit too much, and for some unfounded reason, she wanted to impress this little boy.

She crossed her eyes to Carl. He stood there with a brown Sheriff's Deputy hat adorning his head, long brown locks that nearly reached his shoulders, freckles dotting his cheeks, and those eyes, the one's that mirrored his father's. She saw the playfulness and _joy_ that the young boy had, and it warmed her heart.

"You know," Michonne smirked mischievously at Rick, and then Carl. "How about I show you just how fucking cool your dad's job is. How does that sound, Carl?"

Carl shrieked, and then he quickly composed himself. "Really!?"

"Yes, really. I'll let you meet our producers, Aaron our correspondent, Abraham the news editor, and just for today, you get to be our very own production assistant," Michonne told him, leaning down so that she could look at him directly in the eyes. "You're a very special young man, and so is your father."

Michonne winked at Rick, which caused him to blush light red.

"Can I curse too?" Carl questioned his father.

Rick chuckled. "Let's not go that far, Carl."

Carl sighed, but went over to where Michonne stood, and began to eagerly ask questions. She answered each one with the same maternal patience, a patience that he'd never seen in her. She never once said no, as she glided through the building, introducing Carl to everyone. And, the whole time, Carl's eyes sparkled and shimmered for her.

So did Rick's.

Apart of his heart felt - it felt something within him stir. He began to imagine what life with her might be like, but pushed those thoughts away when they finally reached their office, and Michonne pulled out an extra large Kit Kat bar.

"It's my last one," she told Carl. "But you can have it."

"Really?" he asked, for nearly the tenth time that day.

She nodded simply. "Of course, little man. You're our trusty production assistant, so you get all the cool perks."

"You've never given me a Kit Kat bar," Rick chimed in, his full lips forming into a tempting pout.

"Hush," she told him. "I buy you enough sandwiches, Rick."

"You always know what I want," Rick said, and she could have sworn that he was flirting with her, right there in front of his son. She didn't know how to respond, but she felt a warmth in her chest, and other places, as those eyes undressed her.

She decided to up the ante. "It's pretty easy to figure out what you want."

Meanwhile, Carl stared at the pair of them curiously. _Did adults always speak in codes like this? And why does dad look like he wants to kiss Michonne? Weird._ Carl felt like he was missing something, as he averted his eyes to his father, who smirked constantly at Michonne. He was also pretty sure that he'd caught him staring at her butt in the elevator, which was gross. As for Michonne, she'd been really, really nice to him, but she'd always speak to Rick like she liked him. Her voice was a little too friendly, and her smiles were a little too long, and she'd always touch him on his arm or his -

" - Son, you're going to do your first production assistant duty and take this paper to Mr. Abraham," Rick told him, his eyes never leaving Michonne.

"Sure!" Carl answered, eagerly taking the paper to the funny red headed man that Michonne scolded for his "foul language."

Even though Carl had left, he turned around to look at his father and Michonne through the clear glass door. In it, he saw Rick walk over to Michonne's desk, a bright smile on his face, as she pulled out another small Kit Kat from her desk and give it to him.

* * *

9:45 A.M.

Carl watched on eagerly next to Dale as his father delivered the news that day. They'd discussed everything from the flooding in South Florida, to James Comey testifying in front of the Senate Intel Community, and while they'd debated on things, there was a lightness to them, a flirty, playful banter that'd taken shape and started to form after Rick's apology.

Today, Dale had invited a "mystery guest," citing that they needed that extra spice with everything going on currently in the world at the moment.

"- And our last guest of the day is Paul Rovia, a -"

Paul Rovia, the suave, blue eyed, long haired handsome man, who swung his silky hair - which seemed more appropriate for a Pantene commercial than a professional interview - around, and swung his clunky bracelets around constantly, cut in. Aaron held his breath, wondering where this could possibly go. Dale sat with Carl, looking a bit too eager, as he shook him, and startled the young boy nearly to death.

"Actually, you can call me Jesus," he chimed in. "That's what my clients call me."

Rick nearly chortled, but remained carefully composed, as Michonne stared at him curiously. Dale hadn't exactly let them have any sort of pre-interview with this guy, simply referring to him as "Paul with the book," and emphasized that he'd be a good addition to a more personal, urban, and youthful audience. _He is...youthful_ , Rick thought, taking in the man in front of him, whose casual Hawaiian shirt hung open.

"Your clients…," Michonne trailed off. She didn't want to come off as inept on air, so she tried to play it cool. "For what exactly?"

"Well, I am an empath," Jesus began. "I'm also a healer, and some clients come to me if they want their futures read," he continued, his inquisitive eyes jumping between Rick and Michonne as if he was privy to something. "That's how I got the name Jesus."

"What types of futures do you read?" Rick questioned him.

 _What kind of shit is this? Fucking Dale_ , Rick thought, tilting his head to the side. Michonne, on the other hand, seemed genuinely fascinated.

"I mostly focus on the romantic aspect of futures," Jesus answered. "For example, I know that you're recently divorced."

Stunned, Rick nearly balked at the man's shrewd and correct analysis, but quickly brought himself back to Earth by realizing that anyone could have googled him and known that. This "Jesus" guy didn't know shit about him. But, even so, it startled him, and scared him to have that out there. He rubbed his empty ring finger, and turned towards Michonne, eyes wide.

She took his silent cue for help in, and decided to offer up help. "What about me?"

"I'm picking up…," Jesus paused, his bright eyes darting between Rick and Michonne curiously once more. "A strong connection between the two of you," Jesus pointed to both of them. "A sexual attraction like none I've ever felt, good god how do you two even -"

"- And that's all for those two!" Aaron came in for the save, as Rick and Michonne let out a deep exhale. "Do me!"

Aaron turned towards the two of them and winked, and suddenly, they'd never been more grateful for the correspondent who always seemed to have their backs no matter what.

Jesus eyed Aaron, deeply intrigued by the cute man with those curls, those eyes, that stubble dotting his fresh faced cheeks. "You are a cutie," Jesus said flirtatiously, which caused Aaron to blush. Aaron quickly eyed Eric, his possible boyfriend, who shook his head. _You better not._ "Too bad you're taken."

* * *

6:30 P.M.

Rick and Michonne sat huddled together at her desk, as Carl spooned pudding into his mouth and watched them both with a knowing expression in his eyes. He'd been watching them all day, and couldn't remember the last time that he'd seen his father so happy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his dad smile. It'd been awhile since he'd saw him, and even so, it was just _different_.

Michonne made his dad different. She'd gone with them to lunch at Mrs. Sasha's shop, they'd gotten ice cream, he'd met Abraham, who Carl thought was the coolest person ever, and Michonne had even given him some exclusive comics from someone who watched the show.

But he had to know. "Are you and my dad a couple?"

Rick spit out the coffee that he was slurping, and Michonne twisted nervously in her chair.

"Of course not!" Michonne shook her head immediately. "I'd never date your father."

"Dang, dad," Carl laughed. "You just got burned."

Rick blushed once more, and scowled at Carl. Sometimes, it was hard to remember that this kid was only nine years old. "Carl," he warned.

"I'm sorry," Carl held his hands up.

"It's okay," Rick told him, and then pulled him in for a tight hug. "Michonne just has bad taste."

With this, he winked at her over Carl's shoulder and puckered his lips a bit. She melted at his stupid precious face and his stupid precious son. And, she didn't know how much longer until she'd give into him.

"I have the best taste," She fired back, and then she smiled.

She felt the most content than she had in a very long time, here with Carl and Rick.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author note: I decided to start putting dates so that the weeks and months are easier to follow, as I'm notoriously bad with timelines and I am working on that! A lot of news pieces happen concurrently with current news, but happen in the timeframe of the story, and some are completely made up, I hope that's okay. Also, I appreciate your reviews.**

 **Chapter Seven: Because It's Christmas**

 **One week and two days later**

 **Monday, December 25, 2017**

7:15 A.M.

Michonne sat in her office, eagerly awaiting Rick and Carl. She knew that it was sort of foolish to expect the young boy to run through those doors, but it was Christmas, and part of Christmas meant Christmas miracles. But, when Rick finally did trudge through the door, he was alone, and her stomach dropped just slightly.

Masking her disappointment, she focused on completing an unfinished task from the day before.

"Hey," she heard him greet her. "I got your tea and a muffin…"

She turned to face him. "Oh, thank you," she took it, and then faced back towards her task.

But, Rick knew her better than that. He knew that something was bugging her. Her normally bright face, even if annoyed, was always jubilant in the mornings. Today though, she seemed down about something, her usually sparkling eyes were duller and her eyes were slightly defeated.

"You okay?" he asked.

She simply shrugged, not saying anything.

"Come on, Michonne," Rick pressed. "It's Christmas."

Michonne sighed, unable to resist that velvety accent or those pretty eyes for too long. "Where's Carl?"

"I dropped him off at his mother's first thing this mornin'," Rick told her, noticing how her face dropped at the news.

She once again tried, but failed to mask her disappointment. "Oh."

"Yeah, I wanted him for longer, but Lori wasn't having it. I didn't want to fight her, not today. Not after having him for a week on my own," He admitted. "I should probably fight harder, after what she did."

Michonne didn't want to press him, and she definitely didn't want to make him feel bad, so she simply pushed her thoughts of longing aside and pulled out something from her desk. It was one of her old Santa Hats and a red nose, which she'd kept in there for nearly a year, unsure of which sucker would be forced the wear them on air.

"I am not wearin' that on air, Michonne!" Rick protested, crossing his arms over his chest, and pouting like a child. "I am not gonna be the Sucker Santa."

"Come on," Michonne smirked, mimicking his tone. "It's Christmas, and it would make me feel better."

Rick sighed heavily, his eyes crossing back to hers, and he knew that he'd never be able to resist those rich brown eyes that could probably make him do anything that they wanted. "Fine," He finally muttered, snatching the nose and hat from her, and quickly putting them on.

When he turned around, she couldn't help but giggle at him. His usually salt and pepper beard, neatly trimmed, was nearly white and longer. He looked like the Santa in some magazine for DILFs, which was the best Santa of all.

"Do you wanna sit in Santa's lap?" He asked flirtatiously.

She flushed, her cheeks growing warm. _I am not getting dirty thoughts about Santa. On Christmas._ "Not today, wise guy."

"Oh, come on, it's -"

Before Rick could continue, Negan, their network boss walked in, with Abraham and Dale at his sides. Nervous, Rick and Michonne sat up immediately and pretended to sort through some paperwork, to _try_ and look like they were at least being a little bit productive. They failed when Negan eyed Rick's red nose, and he chuckled to himself. Rick, who was unamused, just sent a glare his way, which wasn't very intimidating given what he was wearing.

"I'm sorry to have y'all working like this on Christmas," Negan began, leaning back for the first time. "But this is a twenty four hour program and we've got shit to do," He continued, while Abraham and Dale quietly nodded next to him. "I've already spoken to Dale about this, but we're changing things up for the new year, which means you two are now in the eight o'clock and nine o'clock hour, and those sorry shits - wait, what are those sorry shit's names?"

Negan turned to question Dale. He nervously nodded again, and answered. "Dwight and Sherry…"

"Sherry is hot as hell, but we're going down the tubes in that hour," Negan said bluntly. "Starting in the new year, you two are doing two hours of coverage, we're gonna get y'all to do interviews with Vanity Fair, talk shows, all that shit…"

Michonne and Rick just gulped, this was their big break, but somehow it all felt too good to be true. Negan just watched the two, curious about them, but he also wanted to test how far he could push them before they cracked, how much he could milk this before canning them for the latest. He'd just have to wait.

"Ta, ta," Negan turned around. "And merry fucking Christmas."

With this, he walked off, Dale eagerly following after, but Abraham stayed.

"You look like you just got butt fucked by Santa," Abraham said, as crass as ever. "So, I assume this is your doing?"

Abraham asked this, but not so secretly watched the pair of them. Watching them was like watching a national geographic or animal planet documentary, one that's gently narrated, about mating animals in the wild. Each day, they'd get closer and closer together, but act oblivious to what everyone else could see. He saw it now in how Michonne's eyes grew soft over Rick, and how he wore those damn props for her.

"Yes," Michonne nodded.

"Well, fry my biscuits and call me Popeyes, are you going to go on air? With _that_?" Abraham chuckled, she really did have him by the balls.

Rick blushed. "Yeah," Rick confirmed. "It's not so bad."

Abraham just chuckled, amused by how whipped Rick was without even knowing it. He decided to switch gears. "Where's that young man who desperately needs a haircut?"

"With his mom," Michonne answered, almost instinctually.

It caused Abraham to raise his brows with intrigue at the pair of them, but he decided not to say anything. It was a lot easier to deal with them when they weren't arguing every five seconds about something insignificant. So, he decided, he'd just let this play out.

"Meeting is at 8," Abraham told her, switching gears. "Be there."

And with that, he swiftly walked off.

* * *

9:00 A.M.

"Merry Christmas, y'all, I'm -"

He could hear Michonne giggling uncontrollably next to him, so he turned to face her.

"What's funny?" He asked.

"You have to introduce yourself as Santa," She said through giggles.

"You didn't tell me that I had to do all that," He accused her, forgetting about the news, or Dale, who stood behind the studio engineers mouthing 'you better fucking do it, Grimes.'

She ceased giggling, a smirk forming on her face. "Come on," She pressed in a slightly seductive, flirty voice. "It's Christmas."

Rick gulped, staring at the camera, Dale, Abraham, Aaron, who wore his best red tie and tired expression, and Eric, who just seemed eager to record the mess that was unfolding in front of him. He felt her silly voice in his ears and unfortunately, in his groin too. He wanted to bend her over the news desk and fuck her right there on air for teasing him like this, but he didn't. Instead, he decided to play this little game of hers.

"Merry Christmas, to all of you out there watching," He paused, giving a pointed glance to Michonne. "I'm Santa."

"And I'm Santa's _favorite_ elf, Michonne Anthony," Michonne introduced herself. "This morning, we're talking about various Christmas traditions around the world, and, we're going to use Rick as our little scapegoat."

Rick stared wide eyed into the camera, as Michonne got up and sat in his lap.

"The biggest one is sitting in Santa's lap," She said. "Right, Aaron?"

The camera panned to Aaron, who for the first time was actually speechless. He didn't know where this was going or why Michonne was currently in Rick's lap; he also wasn't exactly sure how to diffuse either, either. What was he supposed to even say? 'Hey, Michonne, don't give him a lap dance on air,' wouldn't have exactly sounded all that great. He just steeled himself, and decided to just play along with it.

"That's right, Michonne," Aaron nodded, forcing a smile on his face.

Michonne sat on Rick's lap for one long, awkward moment longer, before hopping off and sliding into her chair. And, Rick finally let out the breath that he'd been holding the entire time. It was one thing to see her ass encased in those body hugging skirts and slacks, but it was another thing to _feel_ how deliciously plump and big it was. Rick was also sure that Michonne felt exactly how much he'd enjoyed that part of it.

"Moving right along…," Michonne stacked some papers on the table and awkwardly coughed. "Let's talk about what nationality Santa Claus is around the world…"

* * *

10:15 A.M.

Michonne leaned over the bathroom counter, splashing water on her overheated face. There was something so fucking attractive about Rick in that Santa attire, with that red nose that made her want to jump him every time she looked his way. It had driven her so crazy, that she'd nearly given him a lap dance on air. She was also sure that she felt how much he enjoyed it, and the part of her that wanted it, was into it.

Or maybe she was just really horny and Rick was a handsome man.

 _Yes, that's it. Maybe I'm just really horny._

Michonne nodded to herself, that was what it was. It was not unresolved sexual tension or the crackling sexual energy or her being attracted to Rick, it was simply that she hadn't had sex in awhile that made her act crazy in regards to him. Confident and sure, Michonne straightened her navy blue blazer and white dress shirt, and prepared to leave, when another woman walked in.

It was Maggie, of whom she hadn't seen in quite some time. "'Chonne!" the younger woman nearly shouted, as she wrapped her arms around her. "I haven't seen ya around since you hit the big time."

"Not much has been going on," Michonne chuckled, as Maggie pulled out a tube of red lipstick and reapplied her make up.

"So you're not fuckin' Grimes three ways to Sunday?"

Michonne gasped, and sputtered at Maggie's direct question, which caused her to smirk.

"I take that as a no," Maggie continued. "You two should. Jeez, it's like watching foreplay…"

"Neither of us want each other like that," Michonne told her, and then her face softened. "We're buddies."

"Buddies who want to bang," the younger woman said.

Maggie was sharp, and had known Michonne for nearly a year. Her emerald green eyes were shrewd, and her youthful beauty always earned her certain exclusives on stories, which she took advantage of. She'd become the station's top reporter once Michonne had ascended to anchor, and that made their actual greetings few and far between. But Michonne always admired Maggie's honesty.

She decided to open up. Just a little. "I'm going to tell you something, but you can't tell anyone."

Maggie nodded, looking back at the stalls to make sure that they were completely empty. "I'm all ears."

"I - I like Rick," Michonne finally admitted. Maybe for the first time, to anyone, even herself.

"Everyone likes Rick," Maggie shrugged, playing dumb.

"No, I mean that I _like_ Rick," Michonne went on, each word feeling like she was unleashing some weight that has been on her shoulders. "I like his son, I like him as a person, I'm - I'd _like_ to fuck him six ways to Sunday and the tension between us is driving me crazy."

Maggie just giggled, wrapping Michonne in a comforting hug. She knew the feeling of being attracted to your coworker, and she'd always suspected that Michonne and Rick may have had things for one another, but to hear it, to actually hear Michonne say something like that was crazy. Michonne Anthony always had her shit together, but here in this bathroom, her eyes were wild and she was vulnerable.

"Honey, I know. And now you've just gotta make him yours," Maggie told her.

"How do I-"

Before Michonne could continue her question, the tell tale sound of high heels clicking made her stop. It was Jessie Anderson, oblivious to the exchange who walked in.

"Hey!" She greeted cheekily, taking up a station on the other side of the mirror. "I love bathroom chats! It's just like high school."

Jessie squealed, but when her back turned, Michonne and Maggie found their escape.

* * *

7:00 P.M.

Michonne sat at the bar nursing a drink. Negan was throwing his annual Christmas shebang for the network, which meant that everyone had come out, and turned the top floor to CNN studios into one big bar. Even Anderson Cooper had shown up, which made Michonne a little too eager. That man was fine, she thought.

But, she missed Rick and wanted to know where he was. Her eyes scanned the room, eying Glenn who was engaged in a beer chugging war with Maggie, Jessie dancing seductively (or so she thought) with one of the sound engineers, Eugene, another sound engineer, stood talking animatedly by the tree with Abraham, who just looked annoyed, and finally Aaron and Eric, who stood in the far corner talking closely. The scene was intimate, the song playing was Mariah Carey's "All I Want For Christmas Is You," it was nice.

The bartender came over and slid a new drink in front of her, which she took.

"How many of those have you had?" Rick asked, sliding comfortably next to her. He was still wearing that damn hat and red nose.

"This one is my third," Michonne admitted. "But it's nothing too strong."

"You sure you should be drinkin' that much?"

"I'm drinking _enough_ , Rick."

Caught off guard by Michonne's hard, defensive tone, Rick's face softened. "I wasn't tryin' to control your alcohol consumption, I was just...concerned," He paused, averting his eyes away from her. "I know you were upset about Carl this mornin'."

"I wasn't -," Michonne sighed. She couldn't deny it like she couldn't deny her feelings for him. "Okay, I was. I liked that kid a lot, and it made me think about Andre…," She paused, deciding to just unload her feelings bit by bit. "I wanted to take some time off to spend some time with him, sort things out at home, but now Negan is promoting us."

A week had passed since she'd met Carl, and during that week, they'd formed a sort of daily routine with him. In the mornings, Rick would bring Carl to the station, and the young boy would eagerly assist in whatever small duties Abraham would assign to him, then Rick and Michonne would engage in their daily mating dance on air, afterwards they'd grab lunch at Sasha's sandwich place, followed by more work securing guests, keeping up with current events, and writing articles.

Along the way, Michonne found herself falling in love with Rick's son Carl, and a big part of her wanted to fix whatever was wrong in her relationship with Andre. She'd see it in how Rick cared for Carl, and how he loved him.

"I know it's hard to be there your your son," Rick said. "I feel it when I know that I'm not spendin' enough time with Carl, but kids are - kids are funny in that they only remember when you're there, and forgivin' in when you're not."

Michonne sighed, pulling at her dreadlocks which were in a high ponytail. "I - I just worry that I'm not doing enough for my son," she admitted. "That Negan would replace me with the next white girl with nice breasts."

Rick heard her words, and saw her pain. He knew that it was hard to be a dark skinned black woman on television, especially a highly competitive environment. And, he respected her like no one else, it was probably why he'd tried to make her life hell. Maybe it was his twisted way of getting someone like Michonne Anthony to notice him.

"There's never gonna be another Michonne," he began. "But," He paused, and motioned towards a besotted Maggie and Glenn, who drunkenly held onto each other. "You'll also never be able to get those years back. I regret many things, and that's always at the top of my list."

She gulped, reaching out to clasp his hand. "Thank you, Rick."

Their hands lingered for a second too long, as they both felt that electricity shooting through them. Rick's eyes fell to her lips, which were plump, her red lipstick making them look even more inviting. His eyes raked down to the right red dress that she wore, which made her cleavage look delicious. _Fuck it_. _I want her_. He thought, carelessly, as he moved in. Closer and closer, until…

"There they are!" came Negan's booming voice. "My stars!"

Rick and Michonne quickly pulled apart, and there stood a group of older executive types, who stared at the pair of them like you'd stare at caged animals at the zoo. They were still hot and bothered from their almost kiss, and frazzled a bit, so they didn't know what to say or do.

"It's very nice to meet you both," said one of the old men. "You've made a lot of money for the network in the last month."

"And I've just made sure that these two go in at eight!" Negan told him. "We're gonna fuck the shit out of _TODAY_."

Michonne and Rick just sat there, still not saying anything as Negan continued leaning and storytelling to the men that they'd never met before. Hell, this was the longest that they'd ever seen Negan.

" - We're gonna have y'all on the desk, on talk shows, covers, everything. We might even put y'all on the front lines too!" Negan said, with a lean and a smile. "Be prepared to have no fucking life except each other…"

The two of them stared at each other, unsure if that was a really good thing or a bad thing. For now, they needed to figure out what was going on between them.


	8. Chapter 8

**Author note: I'm really sorry that it's taken me 10,000 years to update this story. I've been working on it to the best of my abilities, but I've been feeling pretty blocked and frustrated by how it was going for awhile. I also decided to try and write a few more chapters so that I could get a better feel of the story. I want to be as present as possible, as I do love this story and appreciate anyone reading. The last thing a writer wants to do is abandon a story. Thanks for understanding.**

 **Also, this story is political satire in the realm of** _ **The Daily Show**_ **and** _ **Colbert Report**_ **, but it does reflect my political opinions too. You might not want to continue reading if you like Trump.**

* * *

 **Chapter Eight: Rockin' New Year's Eve**

 **Wednesday, December 27, 2017**

8:00 P.M.

"Well, you're home early," Mike quipped sarcastically as he sat propped up on the living room recliner.

Michonne rolled her eyes, not in the mood for Mike right now, or his foolishness. She had been torn for the last few days about yet another promotion, and had been working with her agent Andrea to figure out how to do something about her working hours. But, she also didn't want to _lose_ her position, as she knew so many could at the drop of a hat, so she had to tread this carefully.

She'd been debating what to do in terms of her job for the last couple of days, and how she'd manage to see Andre more. She'd decided that it was imperative that she make some permanent cuts with Mike, even though she still wanted him in Andre's life, she didn't want him under the same roof as her. Not since she realized that she had feelings for Rick, and not since she thought about how unhealthy that must be for her son.

"I was able to leave a bit early today," she began, and then took a seat across from Mike. "Mike…," she began, trailing off. "We need to talk."

"About what?" He asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

"Andre," she told him. "I don't think that we should live together anymore, which doesn't mean that you have to move out right now, but I don't want him confused. Especially if we date other people…"

Mike continued to stare at her, a deep, probing stare that reminded her of the months leading to the end of their relationship. He would always give her a look - _that_ look, which said a multitude of things all at once. It said that he could never understand the way her mind worked,that he couldn't control her very well, that he could never. It was something that created distance, something that drew her to Rick. He challenged her, but never once tried to control her. She looked into those dark eyes and yearned for crystal clear blue.

"You mean _you've_ met someone else," Mike huffed.

"And if I have, Michael?"

She placed her hands on her hip, making sure to keep her voice low, but also using his full name to convey her tone. She was pissed, because how dare he question anything about her dating life.

"Then that would matter, but you only make decisions about all of us when it benefits you," Mike continued on, that smug smirk resting on his chiseled face. He got up, and walked around, staring introspectively at the painting on the wall. It was one of Michonne's old works, but she didn't paint. Not anymore. "Do you remember law school or when you went back to become a journalist? All of those decisions, I stuck by you -"

" - Because _you_ wanted to," she reminded him.

"I was supporting you, I always have, but suddenly this person - whoever they are comes along, and you want to change for them?"

His words stung her deeply. She had felt guilt at pursuing her career above all else. But she remembered Mike being her support system as they were both two intelligent, driven individuals. He'd even commented on that being the thing that made him fall in love with her.

"It isn't about anyone, it isn't even about me," she paused, her head tilting in the direction of Andre's bedroom. "It's about our son. It's healthier if we live apart. We've been broken up for months, this apartment is mine, and I can figure out what to do with Andre."

"Your hours - your _job_ ," his lips curl in disgust. "Make it impossible for you to see him."

"I plan on working to see him more, Mike. But you and me - _us_ \- this isn't working."

Once again, Mike just huffed.

"My job at the art gallery is more flexible, Michonne. You barely have time to tell him good night much less take care of him on your own," Mike pointed out.

"I'm _working_ on it," she argued.

"How? Because I'm not seeing why you suddenly need to do all of these things. You've been different ever since you started working with Rick," Mike went on, disdain lacing his voice. "The same Rick that you would complain about for hours."

Michonne didn't know what to say to Mike. She _had_ changed, but only in the good ways. She'd started to see some of her errors, she'd started to realize that she could work and he a mother to her son, she'd started to realize that maybe she did want to open up to someone. Rick showed her that.

"This isn't about Rick."

"Wasn't it always?"

Mike said, a sneer marring his handsome face.

"What do you mean?" She questioned him, shifting her eyes once more to Andre's bedroom.

"It was always about Rick. When you worked at the other station, all you'd talk about was this rivalry you had and when you got the job on his headlining show, all you talked about was beating the infallible Rick Grimes," Mike admitted. "I never felt like I could compete or should. He was like a third person in our relationship, and I don't even think you realize how you come across on T.V."

Michonne had no words because she knew that Mike was right. She'd been obsessed with Rick and beating him for as long as she could remember. She'd just wanted to win. She hated him _that_ much, but hate and love are nearly corresponding emotions, so alike and only separated by an inch on the emotional spectrum. Maybe that was why it was so easy to fall for him.

"All I care about is Andre," Mike continued on. "I need some time to figure out where to go, and we need to figure out what to do about him."

Michonne didn't expect his sudden diplomatic approach. "Alright," she agreed. "We'll figure something out for him."

 **December 28, 2016**

7:30 A.M.

"Hello, sorry shits! Now, I know that we usually don't have our meeting this early, but -," Negan abruptly paused, his eyes scanning the room for her - _Michonne_ , but all he saw was her co-anchor, whose eyes seemed unfocused. "Grimes, where's Anthony?"

Rick averted his eyes quickly to the door, and tried to think of some sort of lie for her. Michonne Anthony was _never_ late, not even when she suffered from the flu several years back. Her record of absence was nearly spotless, so much so that she probably had enough sick leave to take a permanent vacation. But, he honestly didn't know where she was, only that she'd wanted to fix things with her son.

"I don't know," Rick answered shortly.

"Y'all are tied at the hip, but you don't know?" Negan questioned him.

"Not in the slightest."

"Tell her that if she's late again, she'll have to speak directly to me," Negan told him, and for the first time, a sinister grin appeared on his face.

And, Rick realized, that he didn't like Negan very much. He hadn't ever since he took over six months ago. The man demanded them to work long hours even if he increased their pay, broke rules regarding contracts and agents, and probably allowed Dale and Abraham to do his bidding. He also didn't like the direction the network was taking regarding the new administration.

He prided himself on being a true blue Republican, but he also prided himself on being _fair_.

Negan was still smirking at him, though, but he just glared back. A deep, unsettling worry about where Michonne was or what she could be doing stirred in the recesses of his heart in mind. _I hope she's okay, she's never late and I -,_ he stopped himself from getting overwhelmed by his own thoughts. Finally, Negan sauntered off to bother the next person down the line.

7:45 A.M.

Michonne rushed through the double doors, Andre on her hip. His daycare center was closed for the holidays, and so she'd had to take him to CNN headquarters while she worked. The young boy was dressed in his favorite khaki slacks and Spider-Man t-shirt,and his bright eyes nearly sparkled at the surroundings.

"Mommy, is this where you work?" he questioned, his eyes popping open.

"Yes, this is the super cool place I told you about," she answered, sprinting towards her shared office with Rick.

She opened the doors quickly, setting Andre down in her seat, and Rick was already inside her office pacing around. When he saw her, he ran over on instinct, throwing his arms tightly around her. He held her so close that their bodies melded together, her arms instinctively going up to the nape of his neck; his arms resting at her waist.

They held each other like that for several moments longer, as his scent infiltrated Michonne's senses. He smelled like Pumpkins, and something else. She desperately wanted to keep holding onto him, but she pulled away, confused by his desperation.

His piercing eyes surveyed her. "I was so worried," he admitted softly. "I thought somethin' happened to you and Negan was questioning me in the meeting."

She just laughed, but her heart warmed at his concern for her.

"Were you actually worried? About _me_?" She smirked, unable to help herself.

He flushed a bright pink. "No, I was just -," Rick paused, feeling two small arms lock around his leg. When he looked down, he saw the telltale sign of a small boy, with eyes like Michonne and smooth brown skin gripping his leg like a log in the middle of a canal. "And who are you?"

Andre didn't let go, gripping Rick's pant leg tighter. Rick simply laughed, and averted her eyes towards Michonne, who looked torn between being horrified and amused.

"Andre! Let go of Rick's leg," she told him, grabbing one of his little arms and prying him free. Once he was free, she kneeled down to his level, her face serious. "What do you think you're doing, Mister?"

"I was hugging Mr. Rick like you hugged Mr. Rick," he told his mother earnestly. "But you're a bit bigger than me."

Rick just laughed at the boy's candor, already charmed by the small boy who was barely three feet tall with that bright smile. He wanted to know everything about him, because he was an extension of her. And, he didn't know how or why Andre was here, but he knew that whatever the reason, he'd win him over. He'd win them both over.

"It's very nice to meet you," said Rick, who also leaned down to greet Andre personally. "I'm -"

"You're Rick Grimes, and my mommy likes you, so I like you," Andre told him, and then stared at him seriously for continuing. "For now."

Rick and Michonne shared a hearty, deep laugh at the boy, their eyes twinkling. It was in that moment that they both imagined themselves together, as a family, even though neither expressed it.

 **December 29, 2017**

7:30 A.M.

The following day, Michonne arrived early in the morning with something akin to a pep in her step. She walked through the news building, greeting everyone with one of her beautiful, breathtaking smiles. And when she got to her shared office space with Rick, she saw Negan, Dale, and Abraham sitting there waiting for her. Rick sat in front of them, looking a bit nervous, as sweat pooled near his temples and brow.

"Michonne, you finally made it!" Negan said with one of his trademark grins. "Get your sexy ass in here, I've got a proposition for y'all."

Nervous, Michonne went to sit next to Rick, as everyone in the room gave each other tense smiles.

Finally, Negan put them out of their misery. "With all the damn drama in the media as of late, and with y'all's growing popularity, we've decided that you two will headline out yearly Rockin' New Year's Eve show for the last hour. Anderson will do everything before by himself and then y'all will do the final countdown."

"And you're just telling us this now?" Rick questioned, frustrated with being notified so late.

"It was a last minute decision," Dale piped up.

"We have a right to know, it's not normal for us to be working so many hours and I feel like I should speak with my -"

" - The _only_ person you speak with is me, capich? You wanna keep your headlining gig, you follow _my_ rules," Negan said with a sinister grin. "Any questions?"

Rick clenched his jaw. "Fine."

"That's what I thought," Negan told the pair, before motioning for Dale and Abraham to follow behind him.

Once they were gone, Michonne immediately began angrily pacing the room. It wasn't right that they were required to do so much extra stuff for the network, which was unheard of for two seasoned journalists with their own headlining show. She knew that they couldn't, Negan couldn't, do this, but she also didn't want to lose her job, nor did she want Rick to lose his.

"Negan can't keep making us do things last minute like this," Michonne told Rick, stress lining her face. "I have - I have a lot going on," she finally buckled. "Andre's father and I came to an understanding, but he wants me to work less and I get that, I just...I'm really trying."

Rick walked over, and once again she found his warm arms encircling her body as the tears finally leaked from her eyes. "Sh, sh, sh…," he consoled her. "We're gonna do somethin' about this. We'll speak to our agents, lawyers, the union and we'll figure it out. But, I hate seein' you sad."

"I'm not," she mumbled into his shoulders.

She felt so safe, for the first time in a long time.

"I can't believe I used to hate you," she finally admitted into his shoulder, still trapped by his warmth. This time there wasn't anything that could distract them from how it _felt_.

She pulled away, and saw him staring down at her. "I know, right? How could you hate this face?"

She pulled away from him, giggling as she hit him. "Shut up. You ruined the moment."

 **December 31, 2017**

11:00 P.M.

Rick and Michonne had spent the last couple of days preparing for this moment. They had rehearsing for this moment, and it'd finally arrive. The two of them sat on a balcony overlooking the Rockefeller as they were prepped, prodded, and overloaded with make-up. And, something had changed with them during the last few days, even moreso that before.

They'd finally found their niche, their flow, and it'd gone even better than before. Rick decided that after the new year, that they'd consult with their teams and lawyers, and they'd fight for a more regular schedule, or they'd consider moving to another network.

Once the countdown began, Michonne reached over and gripped Rick's hand. "You ready?"

He simply nodded. "I am, as long as we're doin' it together."

"And we're live in three, two, one…," they heard someone say before the lights flashed on and they were live, but Michonne never let go of Rick's hand.

11:30 P.M.

"And like any other year-end special, we here at _Morning Grimes_ aren't afraid to spend the final moments calling out some of our President's worst actions of the year," Michonne began. "So we're going to read some tweets, and drink this tequila after. Hopefully, we don't die…"

"No promises, though it'd be a pleasure to go out with you," Rick winked.

He was laying it on thick, for whatever reason. She flushed, her cheeks growing warm, and then continued on.

"First one," Michonne pulled out a stack of cards. "How many times and ways has Trump tweeted Fake News?"

"All capitals and a hashtag Fake News is distorting our democracy," Rick leaned over Michonne's shoulder, his breath fanning against her ear. Suddenly, to her, reading disses against Trump became some weird foreplay for them, or maybe it was just her.

"Fake News, unless he got it from Fox News," Michonne took another long swig.

"Fake News: I really love my wife," Rick sassed, taking another long swig.

"Fake News: my wife really loves me," Michonne said. "Eric, roll the clips of Melania swerving her husband in the 'Melania don't love him' montage."

As the clip played, Rick scooted his seat closer to Michonne's. His light blue eyes traced her body, from her casual means, that looked painted on, to her grey halter top, that looked like the fabric of her suits, just cut up. He could see _everything_ when she leaned over, those perky breasts of hers were calling his name like a siren.

He was suddenly tired. Tired of denying that he wanted Michonne as more than a friend. Tired of fighting the attraction that he felt for her. Tired of convincing himself that she was just his co-anchor. Tired of thinking of the consequences of his actions.

For once in his life, he didn't want to make a safe choice. Making safe choices had led him to Lori, his ex wife. The same ex wife who slept with his best friend Shane Walsh. The same ex wife who wanted to keep his only son Carl away from him. The same ex wife who didn't believe in leaving the state of Georgia because "there was nothing else to see." No, he realized, Michonne was _everything_ he'd ever wanted in a partner and more; he was just afraid of what people might think of his attraction. Not anymore, he realized.

When she turned, and smiled that dazzling smile at him, he _knew_. He wouldn't let her out of his sight again, he would be with her, tell her how he felt. Tonight.

11:59 P.M.

The Trump digs continued for the next half hour, with the two of them getting progressively more and more drunk on air. Provocative comments were shared about the President's relatives, the state of the country, and even members of his cabinet.

By the time Rick and Michonne needed to countdown to midnight, both of them were drunk and drunk on each other. Inhibitions were gone, the camera's forgotten, as they indulged on each other like an illicit drug.

"10...9...8...7...6," they said in unison.

Rick moved closer to her, placing a hand on Michonne's shapely hip.

"...5, 4, 3…"

They stepped closer to one another, so close that they could feel each other's body warmth, and the flecks of each other's eyes. Michonne's heart thundered in her chest, as the air between them crackled with electricity.

"2, 1…"

Their bodies were so close now, as Rick placed a hand on Michonne's chest, delicately stroking her.

"Happy New Year," the pair mumbled, before their lips found each other's.

The way they kissed each other was hungry and passion filled, something that had been building far longer than either could recollect or even be aware of. Their lips pressed against one another hungrily, as if consuming their first meal after starving for days. Rick sighed into the kiss, Michonne moaned softly, as Rick's hands trailed down her back to cup her ample backside.

The kiss kept going as Michonne opened her mouth for him, and Rick's eager tongue slipped inside. Michonne found herself sucking his tongue in her mouth, those perfect pouty pink lips of his were relentless on his own.

They forgot everything, not even realizing that the frenetic and panicked crew had abruptly cut from them moments before as Aaron, their fateful correspondent took over.

"That was just one of those T.V. kisses, right?" He questioned the pair, who'd now parted.

"Of course," Michonne insisted. "We were just acting to make the moment more intense. There's _no way_ I'd really kiss Grimes."

Rick grabbed his chest dramatically. _Nice save, Aaron_. "And there's no way that I'd _ever_ sleep with Michonne."

"Never," they both said in unison, before cutting to clips of other people kissing while breathing a sigh of relief.

 **January 1, 2017**

2:00 A.M.

At about two o'clock in the morning, their team decided to pack it up for the night, taking off with sly knowing smiles. But that left Rick and Michonne in a now emptied part of Times Square, with an awkward cloud hanging over them after the kiss they'd shared. Rick still felt the kiss tingling on his lips, he was _shook_ by it and did not know how to proceed with his life if she was not in it.

He was fucked because he couldn't discern what Michonne was feeling now, other then that she hadn't denied him. Maybe, for her, that meant something, but he didn't know.

"Was that kiss real?" Rick finally decided to ask, stopping outside of a Broadway theater. Only a few people loitered around the area now, two of them were a couple, the other was a conveniently placed folk singer who played a Bear Mccreary's _Wondrous Love_ on his violin, the song setting the perfect backdrop for the two almost lovers.

Michonne hesitated before answering. "Yeah, it was real."

"Was it just an 'in the moment' thing?" He questioned her, his eyes suddenly turned away as he was uncharacteristically insecure.

"No," she admitted. "I like you, Rick."

"As more than a friend?"

"Yes."

"So, what do we do now?" Rick awkwardly shuffled around, his hands now deeper in his pockets.

Michonne moved towards him, pressing her lips to his in what she assumed would be a chaste kiss, but Rick had other plans. He pulled her close, so close that their bodies were nearly fused together as one. In the distance, they heard the distinct sound of clicking, but neither paid it any mind as Rick's hand moved lower, until it cupped her ass possessively.

Her hand found his curls once more, as she tilted her head to deepen the kiss. Rick took it, sliding his tongue in between her plump lips as their lips hungrily devoured each other. Unlike their first kiss, this one was desperate, with hands feeling, bodies roving, and unleashed sensations flowing through the air.

The alcohol that the pair consumed earlier allowed their senses to be heightened, as each touch, each caress, each pull of their lips sparked shots of electricity. When Rick did pull away, his lips didn't leave hers, but instead trailed down her cheek to her neck, where he inhaled her scent like the sweetest ambrosia.

The halter that Michonne wore left her entire back on display, and her breasts became something of a five course meal, as his lips left a hot trail from her neck, to her collarbone, before he nestled his face right between her bosom.

"We should probably," Michonne giggled as Rick's stubble tickled her skin. "Not do this in public."

Rick continued to suck and lick for a minute longer, before Michonne playfully pulled her chest away from him. He pouted adorably at her.

"Rick," she scolded him.

"Fine," he amended. "But come to my room. Please?"

She flushed at the forward question, as Rick once again took charge of her, pushing her until her body was pressed against the wall. "Rick, I don't know if we should -"

"I need to have you," he admitted. "You need to have me…"

His hand found its way to her waist, before unbuttoning her jeans, and sliding his deft fingers in between. And then he just cupped her, over her underwear, the heat emanating. She was most certainly wet.

"Rick…," she said once more, but knew she'd lost.

She wanted him.

She wanted him _so_ bad.

His hand began to rub quick circles, her hips jerking up. "Okay," she relented. "Okay."

He just smirked at her.

"Lets go," he said, before pulling his hand out of her pants.

2:30 A.M.

After a heated cab ride, an intense elevator make out, and a frustratingly long three minutes trying to get in their hotel room, the two of them were fully naked on the king sized bed. Rick had kissed Michonne all over her body, worshipping her smooth skin, before moving back to her beautifully plump lips.

He'd always found her beautiful, but now, he was in absolute _awe_ of her.

She was everything he'd ever wanted.

"You're so beautiful," he blurted out.

She just smiled at him. "You are too."

Her hand pushed away his sweaty curls, before locking with his beautiful eyes once more. She'd never seen a more attractive man than him, not even her ex Mike, but the confidence that Rick usually exuded was stripped away with just them. And now, when she complimented him, he just blushed and looked away.

"I'm serious," she insisted. "You are," she stroked his face.

"Lori…," Rick began. "She didn't like how I looked, she made sure to remind me."

And there it was, his pain, the things that he kept buried inside of him. He had a deep trauma with his ex wife, she knew this, but she'd never known that while working aside him. He was always hard around the edges, nearly hostile even, towards her, and she'd never understood why or how he could act like that towards her when he didn't even _know_ her.

Now she knew. They really were the same.

"Lori was an idiot," Michonne told him. "I like your eyes, she reached over to kiss each lid. "Your nose," she kissed the bridge of it. "These pretty lips," she kissed each lip individually. "Even these ears," she nibbled on each one before kissing them. "I like your impeccably waxed chest," she said with a kiss to each peck. "And your large nipples," she tweaked each one with her fingers. Rick moaned. "This defined stomach," she nuzzled it. "And your freakishly large calf muscles," she continued on, which caused Rick to smile. "Your arms," she wrapped them around her. "They make me feel safe, and Lori is an idiot to not appreciate you. She sucks, but I don't."

Speechless, Rick's eyes watered a bit at her tenderness and _care_ for him. He'd never experienced anything like that, as Michonne climbed over him, pushing him onto his back. He dick was hard and pulsing, nearly purple. She braced herself, her eyes locking with his, before she enveloped him with her warmth.

And for a long while she just say there, adjusting to the feel of him. He fit her perfectly, but she felt so _full_. He felt so _right_ that it nearly knocked the wind out of her.

"'Chonne," he breathed out, overwhelmed by her tight heat squeezing him like a vice. "You need to move. I'm not going to - not goin' to last."

She nodded her head, and began to move, but that only made things _more_. With each pull of her hips, he brushed against her walls, and her entire body tingled. Her nipples went hard, she throbbed around him, each inch of her body buzzed. She moved faster, and faster too, riding him like a professional equestrian girl. And, the entire time, Rick stared at her with pure adoration, his eyes roving over her lithe form as if he couldn't believe that she was real.

His hands roamed over her body, tweaking her nipples, cupping her back, rubbing on her slippery clit, he was _everywhere._

Their bodies moved faster, as sweat fell like rain in between them now. The only sounds was skin slapping against each other, and low to loud moans. Blue met brown as Rick flipped Michonne over and pummeled her into the mattress. She was overwhelmed when his lips met hers again in sloppy, messy kisses, and even more overwhelmed when he pulled out again and turned her around onto her back.

"I've fantasized about your ass," was the first thing he'd said in nearly twenty minutes. "Get on your knees."

As if immediately drenched like a waterfall, she complied. She didn't know that it was possible to be _this_ turned on, but she _was_.

Without warning, he plunged into her once more, his thrusts erratic and uncontained like a wild animal finally let free. "Fuck…," he moaned, pressing his face into her soft, sweaty back.

This continued on, until she felt herself tightening around him. She knew she was close, and as if sensing that, she felt his hand encircle her clit, and that was it for her. "I'm coming, Rick…," she moaned out, unable to truly process anything except his body on hers. Everything went black for a moment, all she felt was pleasure. Her body shook, her mind went blank, she moved frantically around him, as if she were an addict chasing her first true high. And she screamed at the top of her lungs. Calling for Jesus to save her, but she didn't want to be saved.

After she came down from her high, she felt Rick pump into her, before pausing. "Do I pull out?" He asked, out of breath.

"Don't stop…," was all Michonne answered, before Rick released inside of her.

He came harder than he ever had, screaming her name so loud that she was sure that the person in the next room probably thought he was dying. She could feel his breath on her, until it stopped, and he rolled over, pulling her with him.

"Fuck…," he breathed out. "That was…"

"Incredible," she answered him, before laying her head on his chest.

She didn't speak after that, not really knowing _what_ to say. What do you say after sex like that? "Congrats"? She didn't know, but before she even had a chance to ponder it, she heard him softly snoring.

 _We'll talk later_ , she figured, falling asleep herself.

 **January 3, 2017**

7:00 A.M.

Rick and Michonne arrived to work that morning at nearly the same time, and it was also the first time that they'd seen each other after flying back to Atlanta. Their night together had played over in each other their minds ever since, but they hadn't had a chance to hide it, but seeing each other again, it revived those thoughts.

Once in their office, the two of them sat in an awkwardly long silence until Michonne could no longer bare it.

"That night…," she began, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. "I liked it a lot, but if that was just a one time thing...that's fine too. We can forget it ever -"

" - I don't want to forget it," Rick cut her off simply.

"Then what do you want to do? We're going on in an hour and I can barely look at you because I want to rip off your stupid shirt," she sighed, twisting one of her locs in nervousness. "If the network finds out…"

"We'll just keep it a secret for now," Rick told her. "And worry about all that later."

Unbeknownst to them, Negan walked into their shared office space, whistling to get their attention. "Guess who just called me?"

Shell shocked, and desperately hoping that their boss hadn't heard their conversation, the two of them decided to play it cool.

"Who?" Michonne asked.

"The President of The United States," he began. "You two have a lot of fucking explaining to do.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine: A Presidential Scandal**

 **January 3, 2017**

"The President of the United States," he began. "You two have a lot of fucking explaining to do."

"What!?" Michonne screamed.

"The President called our network today to inform us that the conduct of two of our anchors was inappropriate and that if we continue it, legal action will be taken," Negan said. "Now I want a fucking explanation. This isn't the Chocolate Fucking Factory."

"We just talked about him during the New Year's Special," Michonne shrugged.

"According to his tweet this morning, he says y'all are getting freaky deaky!" Negan told them, throwing his phone at Rick.

 _Michonne Anthony and Rick Grimes of CNN should worry more about what's going on between the sheets than me._

 _I am a good man, but if pushed too far I will expose them for their ways._

The tweets read. Michonne was shellshocked that anyone had even found out that they'd slept together, much less Donald Trump.

"He's insane. We're not sleeping together," Michonne lied quickly. "His 'evidence' is clearly in his head."

"Then explain these," Negan told them, placing pictures of Rick and Michonne locked in a heated embrace outside of one of the hotels in New York City. "What the fuck is this?"

Rick's face turned white as a sheet as Negan continued to place very incriminating photographs of their pair onto the table, with something almost akin to a sinister smile on his face. Negan was _enjoying_ this, for whatever twisted, fucked up reason. Michonne just stared blankly at the pictures, giving nothing away.

"What I should do is fire you both right now," Negan said with a smirk. "But, ratings wise? Fuck that shit. I'm gonna exploit the hell out of this!"

Michonne's blank stare broke into anger, her features becoming hard as she heard the words come out of Negan's mouth.

"Our lives are not a public spectacle for people to pick apart. We have families, people that could be hurt by this," Michonne said, her eyes quickly crossing to Rick's. "We have children."

Negan just laughed. "And?"

"And you can't treat us like this," Michonne resisted. "I want my agent present in any future negotiations."

"Oh, you do? Well, let me just call the President and tell him to run these pictures in every tabloid magazine by the end of this week," Negan sneered. "I'll have the National Enquirer at your door badgering your precious little children. Do you think this is the fucking chocolate factory? That anyone here gives a fuck about you? You're both a face, and you make a lot of fucking money for this network. Remember those interviews? That kiss that I generously erased from air? We're gonna take this to the next level."

Michonne wanted to kill Negan, her dark brown eyes burning holes into his smarmy, smirking face. Negan leaned back, and then gave them both a satisfied look.

Rick just stared at him, not knowing what to say or how to react.

"No last words, Ricky boy?"

Rick launched at him, wrapping his hand around his neck. "Fuck you."

"Rick, stop!" Michonne screamed, rushing over to pull Rick off, but he wouldn't let him go.

"I should kill you," Rick whispered, his eyes hard and cold. Negan struggled for breath, his tall, lean body flailing like a water deprived fish. And then he pushed him to the ground. "But you're not even worth the trouble."

Negan quickly recovered, rubbing his hand on his stubble. "I need to shave this shit," he commented randomly. "You apologize to Donald Trump first thing, and you play things up, or I release these photos."

Michonne and Rick exchanged tired glances, knowing that they were beyond fucked.

8:00 A.M.

"Good morning," Michonne said, barely able to hide her disdain.

Rick clenched his jaw, clasping his hands tightly over the table. Aaron, their clueless correspondent eyed the pair curiously. They didn't appear to be angry with one another this morning, but simply dejected about something, and that made him feel deep sympathy.

"Hi, I'm Rick," Rick added.

"During the New Year's Eve Special," Michonne read from the pre prepared lines on the teleprompter, forcing herself to not roll her eyes. "Rick and I had a bit to drink, and made inappropriate comments about President Trump, one's that we regret."

"These _opinions,_ " Rick stressed. "Do not reflect the network in any way, and we will continue to strive for diplomatic, impartial, partisan based news."

"We're sorry," Michonne forced out, thinking of the impact that their relationship may now have on her son, on getting to be apart of his life. She swallowed the tears threatening to spill out. "It won't happen again," and with this, she stared at Rick, knowing that she meant something else entirely. "It can't."

Unable to meet Rick's eyes, she ended it right there, hoping that no one picked up on the double entendre.

1:15 P.M.

After their on air apology, Michonne avoided Rick like the plague. She felt guilty about what she said and how Rick may have interpreted those words. She desperately wanted a repeat of their night together, but with Mike's staunch position that she be more present in their lives and what could happen if Negan decided to allow those pictures to be published, she knew that it'd be best not to risk exposing themselves or hurting their families even though they weren't doing anything wrong.

But Rick showed up at Sasha's sandwich shop, and found her sitting there by herself as she expected he would.

"Michonne," he said. "Can we talk?"

She sighed, looking up at those beautiful eyes of his, ones that were now filled with confliction, longing, pain. "Sure," she finally agreed. "We can talk."

And with that, Rick sat down directly next to Michonne, his eyes intensely focused on her. It took her back to their night together, and the many ways he took her, the way his mouth felt on her own, and on other places. He sat in front of her for a long moment, the both of them just taking everything in.

"That kiss we had on air," he began. "It was reckless; sleeping together, it was reckless, but what I felt for you, what I _feel_ for you, I can't stop thinkin' about it."

"Me neither," she admitted.

"So why did you say it can't happen again?"

"Because it can't."

"Michonne…," he trailed off, that pain leaking into her name.

"It's more than us, Rick. It's our future, and if this gets out, if Negan -"

" - Negan is just trying to tear us apart, make us his pawns," Rick argued.

"I can't risk my son's privacy or life simply because of what's going on with us," Michonne told him. "He means more than anything to me."

"Nothing is going to happen to them if we don't _let_ anything happen to them," Rick insisted. "What happened that night," Rick paused, stepping closer to Michonne. In the background, Sasha watched the pair go at it, an empathetic somber smile on her face. "You can't let Negan, or his threats do that to us."

"I'm sorry, Rick. I just can't take that risk, "Michonne told him, her sad brown eyes averted to Sasha, and then towards the door as she walked out, leaving Rick alone.

Once she was out of site, Rick sighed and sat in front of Sasha. She knew that one day she'd have to give some sort of advice to one of them, she just never expected for it to be so soon, or for it to happen like this. She looked at Rick, her eyes surveying him. He was usually so put together, with his overly ironed suits and shiny dress shoes, but today, he looked a mess. His suit was rumpled, his shoes were a bit dirty, his curls were messy, as if his fingers had constantly pulled and tugged at them, and his eyes appeared bloodshot, from lack of sleep.

And after all of the times that she'd seen Michonne come into her little place, she seemed off too. Her whole vibe did. But Sasha Williams was not one to pry, you just didn't if you wanted your business to be successful. In this case though, she had to. She wanted these two crazy people to work out.

"For what it's worth, I think she loves you too," Sasha finally said, and then turned. "Bob, I know you're listening so get your ass out here too!"

Rick found himself chuckling at the couple, desperately wishing he had that as Bob came out from behind the visor and greeted Rick with nervous apprehensive eyes. Bob had kind eyes, Rick noted, and a warm welcoming smile. He was the type of man who represented the average man, building this sandwich shop with his wife.

He just stared at Rick for a moment, before holding his hands up in surrender. "I can't help myself. Y'all are the most entertaining folks we get in here."

"It's fine," Rick told him. "I'm sorry if we've made you guys too aware of what's going on between us."

"Don't apologize for that! You need to quit that apologizing and fix this, Rick. The two of you - what you have, that's rare. If any tabloids come knocking at our door, we ain't saying shit to them," Sasha told him, her eyes intense on his. "But my husband and I fought to be together too, and it doesn't look at it, because look at Bob," she paused, motioning to Bob, who now had a sub sandwich shoved into his mouth. "But we did, and if you want a woman like Michonne you've got to fix your life, fix your job, and fight like you never have before."

Rick nodded, absorbing her words. "I will."

"You better," Sasha said, and then went over to the counter. "That sandwich is five thirty five, though."

"You're not going to give it to me on the house?"

"Those pretty eyes may work on Michonne, but I've got bills to pay," Sasha told him.

Rick found himself laughing for the first time that day, while pulling out a fifty dollar bill from his pocket. "Keep the change. Buy yourself somethin' nice, Bob."

 **January 4, 2018**

7:59 A.M.

"And we're live in three, two, one…"

"- Hello, I'm Michonne Anthony."

"And I'm Rick Grimes."

"Today, we're joined by our correspondent Aaron Rodgers," Michonne continued on, motioning towards the always eager and put together correspondent. "And former guest Paul Rovia, love expert, who goes by Jesus."

Jesus politely smiled at the introduction, but his altruistic eyes unknowing probed the pair. He watched their tense body language and inability to look at one another, but also sensed overt sexuality between them, as if they'd partaken in a little something something in between the sheets.

His eyes averted to Aaron, who also watched the pair with trepidation, and Abraham, who watched with something else in eyes eyes that Jesus couldn't quite decipher.

But Jesus knew that he couldn't play this all the way like last time, as Dale stood in the corner conversing quietly with Negan, the big boss, the head hauncho, as if Rick and Michonne were in some kind of trouble. He had to play this smooth, because his spirit guide Jerry, the little happy man who sat on his shoulder, told him to. And so he did.

"Today you're here to discuss the anomally of soulmates," Michonne began, reading a bit stiffly from her paper.

Jesus flipped his Tresemme oh la la locks and flashed a pretty smile towards the camera before continuing. Aaron swooned. "Well, essentially my belief is that our souls go through several lifetimes and we have several soulmates, but there's a rare bond called Twin Flames."

"What are Twin Flames? Sounds like a great dance troop!" Aaron chimed in. No one laughed.

"Twin Flames are people who share a soul," Jesus explained. "I've only encountered one set, and they are who you'll meet in Maggie's extended report, but they exist. They're meant to be, destined, but usually a lot of earthly things keep them apart."

"What earthly things?" Rick pondered, his eyes shifting subtly to Michonne's tense figure.

"Other people, distance," he paused, staring pointedly at Michonne. "Sometimes, even themselves."

"What do you mean by that?" Michonne questioned him, paranoid that Jesus had figured them out. Figured _her_ out.

"The bond between these souls can be so intense that there's a theory that there'll always be a runner and a chaser. One half will run because they're afraid of how powerful the feelings are and whatever earthly things get in the way of the relationship and the other is so gone that they don't care about the consequences," Jesus explained.

Rick and Michonne just stared at Jesus as if he had two heads, unable to face one another after what he'd said, unable to admit that he was onto something.

"That sounds, that sounds like a, um, a mighty strong bond," Rick commented tersely. "Michonne, you seem like a runner."

Michonne's eyes quickly cut to Rick, and for the first time in months, she was genuinely kind of annoyed with his smile. "A runner? Maybe I just want to protect myself and mine."

"It wasn't a personal dig, but a -"

" - But it _is_ personal to assume that about me."

 _Oh boy_ , Aaron thought, reaching for his mug of tea.

"I simply said, 'you _seem_ like a runner,'" Rick explained. "I was assuming, not insulting you."

"An assumption is an implied insult, Rick. There are reasons for the decisions I make, reasons for the things I say, and the reasons I run are," she paused, overwhelmed with her sudden anger. "I just do."

"Look, Michonne," he remembered the cameras there. "I'm sorry. Again."

Michonne didn't look at him. "It's fine, Aaron, you can introduce Maggie's report on Twin Flames Gloria and Jane Ford, married since it became legal, but in love for 50 years…"

 **January 5, 2017**

10:30 A.M.

 **TENSE ON AIR AS SOURCES SUGGEST THAT CO-ANCHORS ARE HAVING SECRET LIAISONS**

You've all seen them: Michonne Anthony and Rick Grimes, CNN's prized anchors and you've probably wondered once or twice if the two are more than just coworkers. Well, you're in luck as a source very close to the situation tells us "they're totally having sex, but in secret. Secret sex."

Do you hear that? It's the sound of hearts breaking as they find out that Rick Grimes isn't a taken Bachelor -

Michonne slapped down _The National Enquirer_ briskly on her desk, and sighed, placing her head in her hands. She'd never imagined that after nearly a decade in the industry, that she'd be subjected to such a disgrace. She didn't know who this "source" could be, but it made her incredibly paranoid. She remembered Negan telling them that it'd stop if she apologized to Trump, but clearly, it hasn't.

It'd only gotten worse, it seemed, as a Google search on her name revealed constant speculation about her love life and Trump's tweets on her relationship. It was her worst nightmare, to be on the radar of the tabloids.

And what made it even worse was that there _was_ something between she and Rick. Something tangible and powerful, and after she'd gone home last night, she'd spent hours reading articles on Twin Flame soulmates. She imagined what her life could be like with Rick, with her son and his. She imagined how happy she _could_ be, if she just allowed herself to be. But then she saw this newspaper and came to the realization once again that it couldn't happen, at least not right now.

She averted her eyes over to Rick's empty desk, yearning for him to be there, but he'd started staying in Glenn's office out of respect. She missed him bringing her tea and a muffin every morning, she missed his hugs, she even missed him in between her thighs, which made her feel bipolar. One minute she wanted him close, the next she wanted to protect herself.

She sighed, hating herself for even starting this in the first place.

5:00 P.M.

Rick's phone chimed in his pocket, and he shrugged it out of his suit pocket. "Hello?"

" _Rick Grimes, I've finally gotten in touch with you_ ," said the mysterious voice on the other end.

"Who is this?"

" _Who I am is not important, but I must warn you now that Negan is not the only one aware of your intimate relationship with Michonne Anthony_ ," continued the voice. " _We're aware in high places. Your wife cheating on you with your best friend? I know about that and it could be front page news. Michonne not being very involved with her son? Oh, how I could twist that…_ "

"What do you want?" Rick asked the voice, his eyes shifting around as if the person was hiding behind the bushes.

" _Less impartial reporting, no relationship with Michonne_ ," the voice continued.

"We don't have a relationship," Rick admitted, even though it pained him to.

" _Keep it that way, and know we're watching you_ ," the voice told him, swiftly ending the call.

Once Rick placed his phone back into his pocket, he walked up the stairs to Lori's house, intent on spending some time with Carl, and after a moment of silence, she opened the door, but Carl did not jump out. Instead, Lori's bony figure stood, with her arms crossed in front of her, her eyes surveying the area behind him.

"Rick, why were magazines coming by my house asking me questions? Threatening me?" She questioned him.

"I wasn't aware that they were -"

" - Well, they _are_ ," she cut him off. "I don't want Carl in the middle of whatever mess you have going on."

"Unlike _your_ mess, Lori?"

"My mess wasn't front page news! You're fucking your co-anchor, Rick? How cliche of you," Lori told him. "Is that supposed to be some way to get back at me? Well, it's not working."

"It's nothing like that. I just want to spend time with Carl," Rick nearly begged, tired.

"Take that up with the courts. Until these reporters leave, that's not happening," she told him, with a hard slam of the door in his face.

5:30 P.M.

Meanwhile, across town, Michonne found herself in a similar predicament as Rick, with Mike greeting her at the door with a stern look on his face.

"Why were there people asking questions about us at Andre's daycare?" He asked, as soon as Michonne came through the door.

"Look, Mike -"

" - _no_ ," he cut her off abruptly. "No. I will not look, Michonne. There were people at our door, there were people at Andre's school. I don't really care what you're doing with that white boy, but I told you that if it starts affecting our son, I'd have a problem with it."

"I didn't anticipate this happening. I've never knowingly did that," she tried to explain, suddenly feeling desperate.

"Well, it did, Michonne," he told her.

She averted her eyes to the place behind him where his bags were laid nearly across the floor, as well as Andre's Spider-Man suitcase and most of his toys in his toybag. She knew that Mike was right, but she never anticipated this sort of ripple effect. She had to stop this, she couldn't let a few reporters ruin her entire life, ruin her son's life.

"Where are you going?"

"To my parents for a few days while you fix your shit," Mike told her, grabbing an awaiting Andre. "I'm giving you that because I know you can, but after that I don't know…"

"Mike, why are you trying to help me?"

She didn't understand. She thought he hated her.

"I don't know," Mike shrugged. "You love our son just as much as I do, I know that."

And with that, Mike left with Andre as she gave him a sad smile. She had to fix this, she knew that much.

 **January 6, 2018**

6:50 A.M.

The next morning, Michonne arrived to work extra early after spending the rest of the afternoon pondering what to do. Somehow, Mike's words had motivated her to get her shit together and the lawyer in her decided to dissect the case at all angles trying to find some sort of solution to her problem. She knew that Negan had threatened them both to not seek counsel from their agents, she knew that there were pictures of them together, but she also knew what was legal and what was not.

She and Rick did nothing illegal, and technically the person who had taken the pictures had. They also couldn't make changes to their contracts without their agents present, no matter what Negan said, because the only thing that he truly could hold over them was the pictures. _If_ she and Rick got ahead of the narrative, then they could win this. Somehow. Someway.

When Michonne arrived to their shared office, she saw Rick there. He'd also come early, as she did, and unlike the last few days, he wasn't hiding from her. Next to him sat Abraham Ford, and someone that Michonne hadn't seen in some time, her agent Andrea Harrison.

"Michonne, hey," Rick told her when she sat down, confused by the people in her office. "There's something I need to tell you."


End file.
